cally agreed on."

"Fine. Your brother's a brick. We're goin' to run down this business,
he an' I, an' drag the truth to light."

A glitter of sardonic mockery shone out of the dark eyes of Cunningham.
"You'll work together fine and Sherlock-Holmes this thing till it's as
clear as mud," he predicted.

By the middle of the afternoon Kirby was free. After he had talked
over with James a plan of campaign, he called Rose up on the telephone
and told her he would be right out to Cherokee Street.

She came to meet him in the stuffy parlor of the boarding-house with
hand outstretched.

"Oh, Kirby, I'm so glad to see you and so sorry I was such a horrid
little beast last time we met. I'm ashamed of myself. My temper
explodes so--and after you came to Denver to help me and gave up so
much for me. You'll forgive me, won't you?"

"You know it, Rose," he said, smiling.

"Yes, I do know it," she cried quickly. "That makes it worse for me to
impose on you. Now you're in trouble because of me. I should think
you'd pretty near hate me."

"We're in trouble together," he corrected. "I thought that was
supposed to bring friends closer an' not to drive them apart."

She flashed a quick look at him and changed the subject of
conversation. Just now she could not afford to be emotional.

"Are you going back to Twin Buttes?"

"No. I'm goin' to find out who killed James Cunningham an' bring the
man to justice. That's the only way to clear us both before the world."

"Yes!" she cried eagerly. "Let me help you. Let's be partners in it,
Kirby."

He already had one partner, but he threw him overboard instantly.
James Cunningham was retired to the position of an adviser.

"Bully! We'll start this very minute. Tell me all you know about what
happened the evenin' of the murder."

She told again the story she had confessed to his cousins. He asked
questions, pushed home inquiries. When she mentioned the woman who had
passed her on the stairs he showed a keen interest.

"You say you knew it was a woman with the man by the perfume. What
kind of perfume was it?"

"Violet."

"Did you notice a violet perfume any other place that night?"

"In your uncle's living-room."

"Sure?"

"Yes."

"So did I."

"The woman I met on the stairs, then, had just come from your uncle's
rooms."

"Looks like it," he nodded in agreement.

"Then we've got to find her. She must have been in his apartment when
he was killed."