crossed to it and undid the straps; the topmost paper told the
reason for the man's disquiet. It showed the familiar, staring eye.
And beneath the eye was a warning: this man was to die if he did not
leave Washington at once.

The Chief turned to the hotel manager. "Was the door locked?"

"Yes."

"But it is a spring lock. Someone could have gone out and closed it
after him."

"Not this time. The dead-bolt was thrown. It takes a key to do that
from the outside or this thumb-turn on the inside." The hotel man
demonstrated the action of the heavy bolt.

"Then, with a duplicate key, a man could have left this room and
locked the door behind him."

"Absolutely not. The floor-clerk was on duty all night. I have
questioned her: this room was under her eyes all the time. She saw
this man return, saw your man, here"--and he pointed to
Delamater--"leave him at the door. There was no person left the room
after that."

"See about the autopsy, Doctor," the Chief ordered.

And to the manager: "Not a thing here must be touched. Admit only Mr.
Delamater and no one else unless he vouches for them.

"Del," he told the operative, "I'm giving you a chance to make up for
last night. Go to it."

And Robert Delamater "went to it" with all the thoroughness at his
command, and with a total lack of result.

* * * * *

The autopsy helped not at all. The man was dead; it was apparently a
natural death. "Not a scratch nor a mark on him," was the report. But:
"... next time it will be you," the note with the staring eye had
warned the Secretary of State. The writer of it was taking full credit
for the mysterious death.

Robert Delamater had three small bits of metal, like tiny shot, and he
racked his brain to connect these with the death. There were
fingerprints, too, beautifully developed upon the mysterious
missives--prints that tallied with none in the records. There were
analyses of the paper--of the ink--and not a clue in any of them.

Just three pellets of metal. Robert Delamater had failed utterly, and
he was bitter in the knowledge of his failure.

"He had you spotted, Del," the Chief insisted. "The writer of these
notes may be crazy, but he was clever enough to know that this man
_did_ see the Secretary. And he was waiting for him when he came back;
then he killed him."

"Without a mark?"

"He killed him," the Chief repeated; "then he left--and that's that."

"But," Delamater objected,