ow, of Rockdale. Dorothy might
at least 'phone.

It was maddening to wait and feel so impotent! His mind reverted to
various phases of the case, but lingered most upon the second
will--that might mean so much to Dorothy. Where had it gone? Had it
been stolen--or hidden? Some way he felt it was hidden. For some
reason, wholly illogical, he thought of Hardy lying dead with those
grease-like stains upon his knuckles. What did they mean?

Working out a line of thought about the will, he was halted abruptly by
a shadow on the glass of his door. He sat down quickly at his desk and
assumed an air of calmness he was far from feeling. At the knock which
came he called to the visitor to enter.

The visitor entered. It was Wicks.

"Oh, how do you do?" said Garrison, rising from his chair. "Come in.
Come in, Mr. Wicks."

CHAPTER XXXII

A TRAGIC CULMINATION

The grin on the face of Mr. Wicks had apparently deepened and become
even more sardonic. He glanced Garrison over in his sharp, penetrative
manner, heightened by his nervousness, and took a chair.

"Forgotten instructions, haven't you, Garrison?" he snapped, adjusting
his thin wisp of hair. "Where's your report on the case of Hardy, all
these days?"

"Well, I admit I've rather neglected the office," said Garrison, eying
his visitor with a new, strange interest. "I've been hard at work.
I've lost no time. The case is not at all simple."

"What's all this business in the papers? You mixing up with some niece
of Hardy's, and the girl getting married to save an inheritance?"
demanded Wicks. "What the devil do you mean?"

"That part is my private affair," answered Garrison calmly. "It has
nothing to do with my work for your company, nor has it interfered in
the least with my prosecution of the inquiry."

"Do you mean to say it hasn't delayed your reports?"

"What if it has? I've had nothing to report--particularly."

"Yes, you have," snapped Wicks. "You know it was murder--that's
something to report!"

Garrison studied the man deliberately for half a minute before
replying. What a living embodiment of Durgin's description of Hiram
Cleave he was! And what could he know of the facts in the case of
Hardy's death that would warrant him in charging that the affair was
known to be murder?

"Do I know it was murder?" he queried coldly. "Have I said so, Mr.
Wicks, to you, or to anyone else?"

Wicks glanced at him with a quick, roving dart f