othy prove to be but some artful, dangerous creature,
masquerading as a sweet young girl behind her appearance of beauty,
innocence, and exquisite charm--that would be time enough to move.

Perfectly willing to be followed for a time by his "shadow," he walked
to the nearest Subway station in upper Broadway and was presently borne
downtown.

He was barely in time at the big insurance office, for Wicks was
preparing to leave. No less nervous, snappy, or pugnacious than
before, the little sharp-faced man appeared more smiling than ever, and
yet with an expression even more sardonic.

"Well?" he said, as he ushered Garrison into a small, private room.
"What have you to report?"

"Nothing very much to report as yet," said Garrison, slightly flushing
at withholding the truth. "It looks very much as if the coroner's
verdict may have been correct--although Scott acts a little like a man
so absorbed in his inventions that he'd stop at nothing for money."

"Needs money, does he?" demanded Wicks. "He has admitted that?"

"Yes," said Garrison, "he speaks so plainly of his need and makes such
heartless and selfish references to the money he hopes to procure on
this insurance policy that I hardly know what to make of his character."

"Capable of murder, is he?"

"He's fanatical about his invention and--he needs money."

"You don't think him guilty?" announced Mr. Wicks, with rare
penetration.

"There seems to be little or nothing against him as yet," said
Garrison. "There was nothing found on the body, so far as I have been
able to learn, to indicate murder."

"If murder at all, how could it have been done," demanded Mr. Wicks.

"Only by poison."

"H'm! You saw the dead man's effects, of course. What did they
comprise?"

Garrison detailed the dead man's possessions, as found at the coroner's
office. He neglected nothing, mentioning the cigars as candidly as he
did the few insignificant papers.

"In what possible manner could the man have been poisoned?" demanded
Wicks, rising, with his watch in his hand. "Was there anything to eat
at his apartments--or to drink?"

"Not that I can trace. The only clew that seems important, so far, is
that Scott spent fifteen minutes in Hardy's room, alone, on the night
of his death."

"That's something!" said Wicks, with the slightest possible show of
approval. "Put on your hat and go uptown with me and tell me exactly
all about it."

They left the office, proceeded