your
theory?" he asked.

"Yes." Ferguson checked off his points on his fingers. "Remember
how insistent Mr. Rochester was that Turnbull had died from angina
pectoris?"

"I do," acknowledged Clymer, deeply interested. "Continue, Ferguson."

The detective needed no second bidding.

"Another point," he began. "There never would have been a post-mortem
examination if Miss Helen McIntyre hadn't asked for it. She knew of
the ill-feeling between the men and suspected foul play on Rochester's
part."

"Wait," commanded Kent. "Has Miss McIntyre substantiated that
statement?"

"Not yet," admitted Ferguson. "I stopped at her house, but the butler
said the young ladies had retired and could not see any one." Kent, who
had called there on the way to keep his dinner engagement with Clymer,
had been met with the same statement, to his bitter disappointment. He
most earnestly desired to see the twins and to see them together, to
make one more effort to induce them to confide in him; for that they had
some secret trouble he was convinced; he longed to be of aid, but his
hands were tied through lack of information.

"Don't imply motives to Miss McIntyre's act until you have verified
them, Ferguson," he cautioned. "Go on with your theories."

"One moment," Clymer broke into the conversation. "Did Rochester tell
you, Ferguson, that he had recognized Turnbull in his burglar disguise?"

"No, sir; I never had an opportunity to ask him, for he disappeared
Tuesday night and has not been seen or heard of since," Ferguson
rejoined.

"Hold on," Kent checked him with an impatient gesture. "I had a telegram
from Rochester this morning, stating he was in Cleveland."

"I didn't forget about the telegram," retorted Ferguson. "It was to
consult you about that, that I hunted you up to-night. That telegram was
bogus."

"What!" Kent half rose from his chair.

"Yes. After the inquest I called Cleveland on the long distance, talked
with the City Club officials and with Police Headquarters; all declared
that Rochester was not there, and no trace could be found of his having
ever arrived in the city."

Clymer laid down his half smoked cigar and stared at the detective.

"You think then that Rochester has bolted?" he asked.

"It looks that way," insisted Ferguson. "How about it, Mr. Kent?" The
question was put with a touch of arrogance.

Kent did not reply immediately. Every fact that Ferguson had brought out
fitted the situation, and Roch