ective's official
"Watson," ruffled his feathers, poked his green-and-yellow head between
the bars of his cage and croaked hoarsely: "Hullo! Hullo!"

"Hullo, yourself, my dear Watson!" Dundee retorted. "Your vacation is
over, old top! It's back on the job for you and me both!... Which
reminds me that I ought to be taking a squint at the Sunday papers, to
see how much Captain Strawn thought fit to tell the press."

He found _The Hamilton Morning News_ in the hall just outside his living
room door.

"Listen, Cap'n.... 'NITA SELIM MURDERED AT BRIDGE'.... Probably the
snappiest streamer headline the News has had for many a day.... Now
let's see--" He was silent for two minutes, while his eyes leaped down
the lesser headlines and the column one, page one story of the murder.
Then: "Good old Strawn! Not a word, my dear Watson, about your absurd
master's absurd performance in having 'the death hand at bridge'
replayed. Not a word about Ralph Hammond, the missing guest! Not a word
about Mrs. Tracey Miles' being hidden away in the clothes closet while
her hostess was being murdered!... In fact, my dear Watson, not a word
about anything except Strawn's own theory that a hired gunman from New
York or Chicago--preferably Nita's home town, New York, of
course--sneaked up, crouched in her window, and bumped her off. _And_
life-size photographs of the big footprints under the window to prove
his theory!... By golly, Cap'n! I clean forgot to tell my former chief
that I'd found Nita's will and note to Lydia! He'll think I deliberately
held out on him.... Well--I can't sit here all day gossiping with you,
'my dear Watson....' Work--much work--to be done; then--Sunday dinner
with poor little Penny."

Four hours later a tired and dispirited young detective was climbing the
stairs of an ugly, five-story "walk-up" apartment house in which Penny
Crain and her mother had been living since the financial failure and
flight of the husband and father, Roger Crain.

"Hello, there!" It was Penny's friendly voice, hailing him from the
topmost landing of the steep stairs. "All winded, poor thing?"

His tired, unhappy eyes drank her in--the freshness and sweetness of a
domestic Penny, so different from the thorny little office Penny who
prided herself on her efficiency as secretary to the district
attorney.... Penny in flowered voile, with a saucy, ruffled white
apron.... But there were purplish shadows under her brown eyes, and her
gayety laste