e group, sounded like a death knell.

"You did not kill Goldberg and Tonti in self-defense. You did not
engineer the killing of Schurman, Miller and Flynn in self-defense.
You--_John!_" Professor Brierly's voice suddenly rose to a
hoarse shout. The weapon in the hand of the stout, erect, pale man
was slowly turning. Matthews sprang forward, but the officer
reached McGuire first. There was a brief struggle for the weapon.
Two officers led the man away.

There was pain in Professor Brierly's eyes, and not the
exhilaration to be found at the successful conclusion of an
experiment in science; or the completed solution of a crime. He
sat down and appeared reluctant to furnish the explanation that
was expected of him. Suddenly Justice Higginbotham burst out:

"But this is unthinkable, Professor. He was a comrade of ours. He
was here with us all the time. He--you must be mistaken." He
stopped and then continued more slowly, gravely:

"Professor Brierly, you will have to give a very good reason for
your astounding charge. You will have to remove every reasonable
doubt. I am not talking in the legal sense now. This man was our
comrade. I should as soon believe that I did this impossible, this
terrible thing myself."

A swift glance about the circle of faces showed Jimmy that they
were all of the same mind. Professor Brierly said:

"I understand. That is why I was reluctant to make the charge
sooner, when we discussed it the other day. Some of you urged me,
remember, to make a guess, which I could have done then. This
terrible thing that happened this morning is something I could
hardly foresee." He paused and went on.

"Your number '14' Amos Brown died twenty-eight years ago, being
survived by a son and grandson. The son died a short time later.
Amos Brown the third, had no kin. But he was a self-sufficient
youngster who managed pretty well. He entered the flying service
in the World War and returned a bitter, disillusioned man.

"He became a hatter and worked in Danbury, Connecticut, for a
time, in a department called the 'pouncing' department. In such a
department, they shave off the rough fur of felt hats after they
have been dyed. In a 'pouncing' room, although there are blowers
to take up the fine fur, there is nevertheless a good deal of it
flying about in the air. I am thus dwelling on this seemingly
trivial point because it formed an important clue in my
investigation.

"Several years ago, young Amos Brown w