."

They took him aside, and Ashton-Kirk looked him steadily in the face
while he said:

"We'd like to ask a question or two about a friend of yours--Fenton."

Hutchinson smiled once more, still agreeably, but with a little less
genuineness.

"Oh, Joe," said he. "Yes, an old pal of mine. What about him?"

"He comes in to see you quite frequently, doesn't he?"

"Why, yes; pretty often." Hutchinson's hand smoothed at the waves of
hair, and through the smile showed evidences of trouble. "But, then,
most of the boys come in often. It's quite a hang-out for most of them."

But Ashton-Kirk refused to consider this last.

"Fenton often met people here, I think," said he, his keen eyes still
fixed upon the other. "People who wanted to see him in the way of
business."

"Why, no," said Hutchinson; "no; I never knew Joe to meet a soul----"

"There was an acquaintance of his named Burton--Tom Burton--sometimes
called the Bounder, who called here at times to talk to him."
Hutchinson's smile disappeared completely, and a glassy look came into
his eyes. "One night, just a week ago, Burton came here; he had some
trouble with Fenton; some hours later he was found murdered."

Hutchinson gasped brokenly; reaching out one trembling hand he touched
Ashton-Kirk's sleeve.

"I didn't have anything to do with that," he said. "I didn't know
anything about it, even, until I saw it in the papers on the day after."

"You _do_ know something about it," said Ashton-Kirk; "so suppose you
tell us--but wait," a new thought apparently occurring to him. "First
call up Fenton, and get him here; we'll want to talk to him, too."

"But I don't know where he----"

"He's at home," said Ashton-Kirk, briefly; "and there is a telephone in
the hall, not a dozen yards from his room."

This precision was too much for Hutchinson; so he went, with scared
face, to a telephone at one side, and asked for a number. The talk
between the two men had been carried on in low tones; none of the
players at the table was aware of its nature. There was a slight delay
in procuring the number asked for, but finally a small, inquiring voice
was heard.

"I want to speak to Fenton," said Hutchinson. "Get him on the 'phone,
will you?"

The small, far-off voice seemed protesting, but Hutchinson urged,
persistently:

"Well, what if he is in bed? This is important. Kick on his door; tell
him Hutchinson wants to speak to him right away."

There was a delay much long