nishment looked at her, too,
from the older brother's eyes.

"You were in my uncle's apartment--on the night of the murder?" James
said at last.

"I was. I came to Denver to see him--to get justice for my sister. I
didn't intend to let the villain escape scot free for what he had done."

"Pardon me," interrupted Jack, and the girl noticed his voice had a
queer note of anxiety in it. "Did your sister ever tell you that my
uncle was responsible for--?" He left the sentence in air.

"No, she won't talk yet. I don't know why. But I found a note signed
with his initials. He's the man. I know that."

James looked at his brother. "I think we may take that for granted,
Jack. We'll accept such responsibilities on us as it involves.
Perhaps you'd better not interrupt Miss McLean till she has finished
her story."

"I made an appointment with him after I had tried all day to get him on
the 'phone or to see him. That was Thursday, the day I reached town."

"He was in Colorado Springs all that day," explained James.

"Yes, he told me so when I reached him finally at the City Club. He
didn't want to see me, but I wouldn't let him off till he agreed. So
he told me to come to the Paradox and he would give me ten minutes. He
told me not to come till nearly ten, as he would be busy. I think he
hoped that by putting it so late and at his rooms he would deter me
from coming. But I intended to see him. He couldn't get away from me
so easily as that. I went."

Jack moistened dry lips. His debonair ease had quite vanished. "When
did you go?"

"It was quite a little past a quarter to ten when I reached his rooms."

"Did you meet any one going up or coming down?" asked James.

"A man and a woman passed me on the stairs."

"A man and a woman," repeated Jack, almost in a whisper. His attitude
was tense. His eyes burned with excitement.

"Was it light enough to tell who they were?" James asked. His cold
eyes did not lift from hers until she answered.

"No. It was entirely dark. The woman was on the other side of the
man. I wouldn't have been sure she was a woman except for the rustle
of her skirts and the perfume."

"Sure it wasn't the perfume you use yourself that you smelled?"

"I don't use any."

"You stick to it that you met a man and a woman, but couldn't possibly
recognize either of them," James Cunningham said, still looking
straight at her.

She hesitated an instant. Somehow she did not qui