ove was not convinced.

"He says that he cannot be seen to-night; that he has retired," spoke
the hall man, turning once more. "Can you not call at his office in the
morning?"

Ashton-Kirk stepped inside the brass rail.

"If you please," said he to the man as he took possession of the
instrument. Then in a sharp, decisive tone he spoke into the
transmitter. "Mr. Quigley, I am very sorry to inconvenience you
to-night. To put off the matter of which I have to speak until morning
would perhaps place you in a rather hard light. The police always make
such a muddle of these things."

There was a pause, then came a shrill piping over the wire, startled and
inquiring. Scanlon saw the investigator smile.

"Very well," said Ashton-Kirk. "We will come up immediately." Turning to
the hall man, he asked: "Where is Mr. Quigley's apartment?"

"Twelfth floor, sir. Take the elevator. Number 1203."

The glittering cage swept smoothly up through the shaft, and at the
twelfth floor stopped.

"Third door to your right, suh," said the black man in charge.

Ashton-Kirk was about to knock at the door indicated when it opened, and
they saw a man in a dressing gown, a long side growth of hair brushed
over a bald head and a white, puffy face.

"Sir," said he, agitatedly, "I really must protest against this sort of
thing; it is very late. And I have had a trying day."

"I repeat, Mr. Quigley, I am sorry to disturb you; but, as I have also
said, the matter is very pressing. The police----"

"Come in, come in," said Quigley, hastily. "This way, gentlemen. I
suppose a man in my way of business must expect certain unforeseen
contingencies."

They passed into a room which seemed packed tightly with glittering
things; everything gleamed; not a foot of the wall but had a painting,
and each held within a gilded frame; small marbles shone as though they
had been polished; each piece of furniture had been rubbed to the
ultimate; the rugs were of the brightest and the floor threw off a sheen
of varnish that was appalling.

"Take chairs," said Mr. Quigley. "Be comfortable, now that you are
here." And when he saw them seated, he stood before them, an injured
look upon his puffy white face. "The police, you said, sir. Now, just
what of the police?"

"About a week ago," said Ashton-Kirk, quietly, "there was a murder done
at Stanwick. Perhaps you recall it; the victim was a man of the name of
Burton."

"Burton!" Quigley nodded and pursed his