ed. "I don't believe she'd protect him if she knew he'd
killed her sister."

"Not if she knew, perhaps," Bristow pursued ruminatively. "But if she
suspected, merely suspected?"

The chief did not answer this. He was clinging now to the theory of
Perry's guilt. It seemed to him the easiest one to prove.

"By the way, Mr. Bristow," he suggested, "wouldn't it be a good idea for
us to search the yard and garden back of this house?"

"What for?"

"There's always the chance that the murderer, in running away, dropped
something, even a part of the plunder. Then, too, remember the buttons."

"Yes; I see what you mean, but it's getting late now. The light's none
too good--and I'm tired, chief, tired out. Suppose we let that go until
tomorrow--or you do it alone."

"No; I'll wait for you tomorrow. We can do it together."

"Oh," Bristow asked, as if suddenly remembering an important item, "what
kind of shoes is Perry wearing?"

"An old pair of high-topped tennis shoes--black canvas."

"Rubber soles?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry," observed Bristow. "That's another complication. Morley wore
rubbers last night. Either he or Perry might have made that footprint on
the porch."

"How about Withers?" Greenleaf advanced a new idea. "He didn't tell us
anything he did after seeing Campbell leave here last night."

"That's true. You'd better see him tonight. Ask him about that; and find
out what time he returned to the Brevord. If you don't get it out of him
tonight, you probably never will. By tomorrow, his detective, Braceway,
will be on the scene, and the chances are that Withers will talk to him
and not to us--that is, if he talks at all."

"Then I'll see you in the morning?"

"Yes; any time. I'll get up early. But, if you get anything out of
Withers tonight, telephone me--or if your man Jenkins reports on his
search for the fellow with the gold tooth."

"O. K.," agreed the chief, and swung off down the hill.

Bristow, whom he had left absorbed in thought, turned after a few minutes
and went back to the door of No. 5. Miss Kelly answered his ring.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," he said, his smile a compliment, "but there's
something I'm very anxious for you to do for me. Will you clean Miss
Fulton's finger nails as soon as you can? And I want you to keep
everything you get as a result of that process."

"Do her nails!" The nurse was amazed.

"Yes; please. I'll explain later. And another thing: don't cut the
cuticle. Don'