. In his own home, too."

I stared at him without comprehension. "Who is it?" I asked with
difficulty. There was a band drawn tight around my throat.

"It is Arnold Armstrong," he said, looking at me oddly, "and he has
been murdered in his father's house."

After a minute I gathered myself together and Mr. Jarvis helped me into
the living-room. Liddy had got Gertrude up-stairs, and the two strange
men from the club stayed with the body. The reaction from the shock
and strain was tremendous: I was collapsed--and then Mr. Jarvis asked
me a question that brought back my wandering faculties.

"Where is Halsey?" he asked.

"Halsey!" Suddenly Gertrude's stricken face rose before me the empty
rooms up-stairs. Where was Halsey?

"He was here, wasn't he?" Mr. Jarvis persisted. "He stopped at the
club on his way over."

"I--don't know where he is," I said feebly.

One of the men from the club came in, asked for the telephone, and I
could hear him excitedly talking, saying something about coroners and
detectives. Mr. Jarvis leaned over to me.

"Why don't you trust me, Miss Innes?" he said. "If I can do anything I
will. But tell me the whole thing."

I did, finally, from the beginning, and when I told of Jack Bailey's
being in the house that night, he gave a long whistle.

"I wish they were both here," he said when I finished. "Whatever mad
prank took them away, it would look better if they were here.
Especially--"

"Especially what?"

"Especially since Jack Bailey and Arnold Armstrong were notoriously bad
friends. It was Bailey who got Arnold into trouble last
spring--something about the bank. And then, too--"

"Go on," I said. "If there is anything more, I ought to know."

"There's nothing more," he said evasively. "There's just one thing we
may bank on, Miss Innes. Any court in the country will acquit a man
who kills an intruder in his house, at night. If Halsey--"

"Why, you don't think Halsey did it!" I exclaimed. There was a queer
feeling of physical nausea coming over me.

"No, no, not at all," he said with forced cheerfulness. "Come, Miss
Innes, you're a ghost of yourself and I am going to help you up-stairs
and call your maid. This has been too much for you."

Liddy helped me back to bed, and under the impression that I was in
danger of freezing to death, put a hot-water bottle over my heart and
another at my feet. Then she left me. It was early dawn now, and from
voices under