"I did," Dundee retorted. "Well, conceding that she was neither deaf nor
half-blind, she would necessarily have heard and seen her assailant
before he shot her."

"What's the other explanation?" Strawn was becoming impatient.

"That the person who killed her was so well known to her, and his--or
her--presence in this room so natural a thing that she paid no attention
to his or her movements and was concentrating on the job of powdering
her very pretty face."

"You mean--one of that gang of society folks in there?" and Strawn
jerked a thumb toward the left side of the house.

"Very probably," Dundee agreed.

"But where's the gun?" Strawn argued. "I tell you my men--"

"This was a premeditated murder, of course," Dundee interrupted. "The
Maxim silencer--unless they are all lying about not hearing a
shot--proves that. Silencers are damned hard to get hold of, but people
with plenty of money can manage most things. And since the murder was
premeditated, it is better to count on the fact that the murderer--or
murderess--had planned a pretty safe hiding place for the gun and the
silencer.... Oh, not necessarily in the house or even near the house,"
he hastened to assure Strawn, who was trying to break in.... "By the
way, how long after Mrs. Selim was killed was her death discovered? Or
do you know?"

"I haven't been able to get much out of that bunch in there--not even
out of Penelope Crain, who ought to be willing to help, seeing as how
she works for the district attorney. But I guess she's waiting to spill
it all to you, if she knows anything, so you and Sanderson will get all
the credit."

"Now, look here, chief," Dundee protested, laying a hand on Strawn's
shoulder as he reverted to the name by which he had addressed the head
of the Homicide Squad for nearly a year, "we're going to be friends,
aren't we? Same as always? We know pretty well how to work together,
don't we? No use to begin pulling against each other."

"Guess so," Strawn growled, but he was obviously pleased and relieved.
"Maybe you'd better have a crack at that crowd yourself. I hear Doc
Price's car--always has a bum spark plug. I'll stick around with him
until he gets going good on his job; then, if you'll excuse me for
butting in, I'll join your party in the living room.... And good luck to
you, Bonnie!"

Dundee took the door he knew must lead into the central hall, but found
himself in an enclosed section of it--a small foyer between the m