onjecture of the reporter
writing the story which had given spur to the vivid imagination of the
headline writer.

"So now," questioned Leverage--"what are you going to do: deny it?"

"No!" snapped Carroll--"I can't. He hasn't misquoted a single line of
what I said. It just makes things--makes 'em mighty embarrassing."

He sat hunched in his chair staring at the screaming headlines and
re-reading the lurid story. Again an orderly entered.

"Young lady out there," he announced, "who wants to know if Mr.
Carroll is here."

Instantly the mind of the detective leaped to the tragic figure of Naomi
Lawrence. "She wants to see me?" he questioned.

"Yes, sir."

"Show her in." He motioned to Leverage to remain. The orderly
disappeared--and in a minute, the door opened and a woman entered.
Carroll sprang to his feet with an exclamation of surprise.

"Miss Gresham!"

Hazel Gresham nodded. She advanced toward Carroll. Every drop of color
had been drained from her cheeks. Her manner indicated intense nervous
strain. Her eyes were wide and fixed--

"I would like to speak to you alone, Mr. Carroll."

"Yes--This is Chief Leverage, Miss Gresham."

Leverage acknowledged the introduction and would have left but the girl
stopped him. "On second thought, Mr. Leverage--you might remain."

Eric paused. His eyes sought Carroll's face. Both men knew that something
vitally unexpected was about to be disclosed. They waited for the girl to
speak--and when she did her voice was so low as to be almost
unintelligible.

"About a half hour ago, gentlemen--I read the story in The Star.
I--I--" she faltered for a moment, then went bravely on--"I came right
down--to save you the trouble of sending for me!"

Silence: tense--expectant. "You did _what?"_ queried Carroll.

"I came down--to save you the trouble--the embarrassment--of sending for
me." She looked at them eagerly. "I have come to give myself up!"

Carroll frowned. "For what?"

"For--for the murder of--Roland Warren!"

The detective shook his head. "I don't understand, Miss Gresham. Really I
don't. Do you mean to tell me that _you_ were the woman in the taxicab?"

She was biting her lips nervously. "Yes."

"And that you shot Roland Warren?"

"Y-yes--And when I read in the paper that you knew who did it--I came
right down here. I didn't want to--to--to be brought down--in a
patrol wagon."

"I see--" Wild thoughts were chasing one another through Carroll's
brain. He was