I tried to believe him as he said this; as, seeing my blankness, he
repeated it for me in other words. For the moment it was impossible.
This sort of thing must have happened in the world, of course--at other
times, to other people. But not now, not to Gertrude. Certainly not to
Gertrude; a woman so aloof, so exquisite, self-sheltered,
class-sheltered, not merely from ugliness, from the harsh and brutal,
but from everything in life even verging toward vulgarity, coarse
passion, the unrestrained....

"That's the way she was killed, Mr. Hunt--no mistake. Now--who did
it--and why? That's the point."

At my elbow was a table with a reading-lamp on it, a desk-set, a
work-basket, belonging, I suppose, to one of the maids, and some
magazines. One magazine lay just before me--_The Reel World_--a
by-product of the great moving-picture industry. I had been
staring--unseeingly, at first--at a flamboyant advertisement on its
cover that clamored for my attention, until now, with Conlon's question,
it momentarily gained it. The release of a magnificent Superfeature was
announced--in no quavering terms. "The Sins of the Fathers" it shrieked
at me! "All the thrilling human suspense"; "virile, compelling";
"brimming over with the kind of action and adventure your audiences
crave"; "it delivers the wallop!"

Instantly, with a new force, Lucette's outcry swept back upon me. "Susan
did it! Wasn't she with her? Alone with her? _It's in her blood!_"

And at once every faculty of my spirit leaped, with an almost
supernatural acuteness, to the defense of the one being on earth I
wholly loved. All sense of unreality vanished. Now for it--since it must
be so! Susan and I, if need be, against the world!

"Go on, sergeant. What's your theory?"

"Never mind my theory! I'd like to get _yours_ first--when I've given
you all I know."

"All right, then! But be quick about it!"

"Easy, Mr. Hunt! It's not as simple as all that. Well, here it is:
Somewhere round ten o'clock, a Miss Blake--a magazine-writer livin' on
West 10th Street--your ward, I understand----"

"Yes."

"Well, she calls here, alone, and asks for Mrs. Arthur. Mrs. Hunt's
personal maid--English; she's no chicken either--she lets her in and
says Mrs. Arthur isn't here--see--and didn't the door boy tell her so?
Yes, says Miss Blake, but she'll wait for her anyway. The maid--name of
Iffley--says she thought that was queer, so she put it to Miss Blake
that maybe she'd better ask M