top desk
on which was a hand telephone. In plain sight through the windows he
beheld the garage and behind it the tops of trees. To summon Rumson, to
keep in touch with Nolan, he need only step to one of these windows and
beckon. The strategic position of the room appealed, and with a bow of
the head he passed in front of his hostess and entered it. He continued
to take note of his surroundings.

He now saw that from the office in which he stood doors led to rooms
adjoining. These doors were shut, and he determined swiftly that before
the interview began he first must know what lay behind them. Mrs. Earle
had followed and, as she entered, closed the door.

"No!" said Wharton.

It was the first time he had spoken. For an instant the woman hesitated,
regarding him thoughtfully, and then without resentment pulled the door
open. She came toward him swiftly, and he was conscious of the rustle of
silk and the stirring of perfumes. At the open door she cast a frown of
disapproval and then, with her face close to his, spoke hurriedly in a
whisper.

"A man brought a girl here to lunch," she said; "they've been here
before. The girl claims the man told her he was going to marry her. Last
night she found out he has a wife already, and she came here to-day
meaning to make trouble. She brought a gun. They were in the room at the
far end of the hall. George, the waiter, heard the two shots and ran
down here to get me. No one else heard. These rooms are fixed to keep
out noise, and the piano was going. We broke in and found them on the
floor. The man was shot through the shoulder, the girl through the body.
His story is that after she fired, in trying to get the gun from her,
she shot herself--by accident. That's right, I guess. But the girl says
they came here to die together--what the newspaper calls a 'suicide
pact'--because they couldn't marry, and that he first shot her,
intending to kill her and then himself. That's silly. She framed it to
get him. She missed him with the gun, so now she's trying to get him
with this murder charge. I know her. If she'd been sober she wouldn't
have shot him; she'd have blackmailed him. She's _that_ sort. I know
her, and--"

With an exclamation the district attorney broke in upon her. "And the
man," he demanded eagerly; "was it _he_ killed Banf?"

In amazement the woman stared. "Certainly _not_!" she said.

"Then what _has_ this to do with Banf?"

"Nothing!" Her tone was annoyed, reproac