pression; it was as
though this latter development worried him. But in a few moments he
went on: "Do you know where this man Morris is to be found?"

"Oh, yes. He's quite well known. Has an office in the Blake Building,
and is employed just now, so I've heard, by the Navy Department."

"You have visited Christie Place to-day?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did the police have you look about?"

"Yes, sir. And so far as I can see, nothing has been taken."

"The weapon that Hume was killed with, now. Do you know anything
about it--did it belong to the store?"

"The bayonet? No, sir."

"Are you sure of that?" earnestly.

"Positive. It was my duty to keep a complete list of everything we had
in stock. We had other sorts of arms, but no such thing as a bayonet."

There were a few more questions, but as they drew out nothing of
interest, Stillman signified to Brolatsky that the interview was at an
end.

"Now, you will go with Mr. Curran to police headquarters on the next
floor," said he, "and tell them what you have told me about this
Antonio Spatola."

Then he opened the door and stepped out.

"Curran," they heard him say, importantly.

"I want you to--" then the door closed, cutting the sentence short.

Pendleton gazed fixedly at Ashton-Kirk.

"I say," said he, "I'm not up in this sort of thing at all. I've been
putting two and two together, and it's led me into a deuce of a
state."

Ashton-Kirk looked at him inquiringly; there was expectancy in the
investigator's eyes, but he said nothing.

"Perhaps you'll think that I'm all kinds of a fool," continued
Pendleton, "and maybe I am. But here are the things that I'm trying to
marshall in order. I'll take them just as they happened." He held up
one hand and with the other began to check off the counts upon his
fingers. "Yesterday you have a visit--a visit of a professional
nature--from Edyth Vale. Last night she strangely disappears for a
time. At a most unconventional hour this morning I find you at her
door. Then I learn that you are on your way to look into the details
of a murder that you had just heard of--somehow. Now I hear that Allan
Morris, Edyth's fiance, has been, in rather an odd way, upon familiar
terms with the murdered man."

He paused as he checked this last count, still regarding his friend
fixedly.

"I don't claim," he went on, after a moment, "that these things have
anything to do with each other. But, somehow, they've got together in
my mind, and