en. He
addressed Barker, his voice soft-hopeless.

"You mean that Mrs. Lawrence was the woman in the taxicab?"

"Yes, sir." The "sir," which Barker used for the first time was
respectful.

"Where had she been during the evening--after dark of the night of
the--killing?"

"At home--I believe."

"You believe?"

"Yes, sir."

Carroll's eyes lighted. His voice cracked out accusingly: "Don't you
_know_ that that is incorrect?"

Barker shook his head. "Why, no, sir. Of course, I ain't sayin' positive
that she _was_ at home all evenin', but--"

"As I understand it," said Carroll slowly--"an accommodation train came
in just about that time: isn't that a fact?"

"Some train came in then--I don't know which one it was."

"Isn't it a fact that the woman who got into the taxicab had been a
passenger on that train: that she got off with the other passengers,
carrying a suit-case?"

"There ain't nobody can see the passengers get off the trains at the
Union Station, Mr. Carroll. You go down them steps and approach the
waitin' room underground--crossin' under the tracks."

"But you do know that this woman--whoever she was--passed through the
waiting room with the passengers who came on that train, don't you?"

"Yes, sir--she done that, but it don't mean nothin'."

"Why don't it?"

"Well, sir, for one thing--ain't it true that the papers said the
suit-case she was carryin' wasn't hers at all. Ain't it a fact that she
had Mr. Warren's suit-case?"

"Well?" Carroll saw his last hope glimmering.

"You see, sir--Mr. Warren was meetin' Mrs. Lawrence at the station. He
got there with his suit-case at about ten minutes to twelve. She got
there about ten or fifteen minutes later--"

"How did she come?"

"On the street car. And when she come out--she was alone and it was his
suit-case she was carryin'--the same suit-case he had taken into the
station. The one you found in the taxicab."

"I see--" Carroll did not want to believe Barker's story, but he knew
that the man was telling the truth--or at least that most of what he was
saying was true. The detective seemed crushed with disappointment.
Leverage, seated in the corner of the room, chewing savagely on a big
black cigar--was sorry for his friend: sorry--yet proud of the way he was
standing the gaff of his chagrin. Carroll again spoke to Barker--manner
almost apathetic--

"You know a good deal more about this thing than you've told us, don't
you Barker?"

"Yes, s