ter your original suspicion of my sister--"

Carroll laughed good-naturedly. "Rid your mind of that, my friend. I
merely happened to be downtown with Miss Rogers--and drove her up here in
my car. As a matter of fact, if you have no objection, I'd like very much
to meet your sister."

"Why?"

"Because she was Roland Warren's fiancee. Because she can tell me some
things about Warren which no one else can tell me. Because the Warren
case is almost as far from solution as it was one minute after the
killing occurred."

Gresham thought intensively for a moment. "You can give me your word of
honor, Carroll, that you are convinced that my sister is not connected in
any way with the crime?"

"I can, Gresham. So far as I now know, your sister has no connection
whatever with the case. But she must necessarily be in possession of
certain personal details regarding Warren which I'd like to find out."

Gresham started back toward the house. "You may talk to her," he decided
briefly--"if she is willing. But I prefer to be present during the
interview."

Carroll bowed. "As you will, Gresham."

They walked to the house and Garry led the way to the front hall. Evelyn,
considerably piqued at being ignored, took advantage of his disappearance
in search of his sister, to open up a broadside of inconsequential
chatter before which her previous efforts paled into insignificance. And
it was in the midst of her verbal barrage that Gresham appeared at the
far end of the hall with his sister.

Carroll was pleasantly surprised. Evelyn's protestations of intimacy with
Hazel Gresham had implanted in his mind the impression that she was
decidedly of the flapper type. He was glad to find that she was not.

She was not a beautiful girl: rather she belonged in that very desirable
category which is labeled "Sweet." There was an attractive wistfulness
about her--an undeniable charm, a wholesomeness--the sort of a woman,
reflected Carroll instantly, whom a sensible man marries.

There was no hint of affectation about her. Her eyes were a trifle red
and swollen and she seemed in the grip of something more than mere
excitement. But in her dress there was no ostentation--it was somber, but
not black. And she came straight to Carroll--her eyes meeting his
squarely--and they mutually acknowledged Evelyn's gushing, but unheard,
introduction--

"Miss Gresham--"

"Mr. Carroll--"

They seated themselves about a small table which stood in the cent