e shook hands
with him and went into the house and closed the door. He got into his
machine, turned it and went back toward town."

"Was his machine noisy?"

"No."

"Did you try to enter Number Five?"

"No. I wasn't ready to disclose my presence. I wanted more time."

He put his hand to his watch pocket and was surprised to find that no
watch was there; he had been making nervous little movements like that
throughout the interview; but he kept his keen glance on his questioner.

"Then, tell us this, please," Bristow demanded, the sharpness in his tone
pronounced: "have you and your wife been on the best of terms lately?
And another thing: have you ever had any lasting, distressing
disagreements with her?"

The effect of this upon Withers was entirely surprising. He sprang from
his chair, his features suddenly working with rage.

"Dammit!" he exclaimed in a tense, vibrant voice, as his glance rested
first on Bristow and then on Greenleaf. "What does all this amount to
anyway? Here you are, asking me questions as if you thought I had killed
my own wife! What I want is results, not a lot of hot air and bluff!"

He snapped his fingers under Bristow's nose.

"Why, dammit!" he shrilled. "Haven't you any idea yet where to look for
the murderer? Are you groping around here helplessly after all this time?
Dammit! I want a real detective on this job, and I'm going to get one."

He clapped his felt hat to his head and started toward the door.

"You can bet your last dollar on that! I'm going to get one, and he'll be
here tomorrow if telegrams can bring him. I'll have Sam Braceway, the
cleverest fellow in this business in the South, here tomorrow! I intend
to have punishment for the devil who killed my wife. Punishment!--the
worst kind!"

His lips were trembling, and he dashed the back of his hand across his
face, as if he feared the formation of tears in his eyes.

"You two boneheads can put that in your pipes and smoke it! I mean
business!"

He slammed the door, and was gone, taking the steps to the street in two
bounds.

"By cracky!" said Greenleaf. "What do you make of that?"

"Nothing," Bristow answered contemptuously; "nothing except that it may
be well for us to find out a whole lot more about Mr. Withers and his
peculiarities of temper and temperament."

"I should say so," the chief chimed agreement.

"Of course," Bristow added, "that was the easiest way for him to break
off our inquiry. I don't thin