hich was set between the two windows.

"I told you she was shot from the window!" Strawn reminded Dundee
triumphantly. "You see, doc, it's my theory that the murderer climbed up
to the sill of this window, which was open as it is now, crouched in it,
and shot her while she sat there powdering her face."

"Not necessarily, Captain, not necessarily," Dr. Price deprecated. "I
merely say that this pencil mark indicated the _end_ of the line showing
the path of the bullet. Certainly she was not shot _through_ the frame
of the window, but she might have been shot by anyone stationed just in
front of it, or anywhere along the line, up to, say, within ten feet of
the woman.... Now, if that's all, Captain, I'll be getting this corpse
into the morgue for an autopsy. And I'll send you both a copy of my
findings."

"Just a minute, Dr. Price," Dundee detained him. "How old would you say
Mrs. Selim was?"

The little doctor pursed his wrinkled lips and considered for a moment,
eyeing the body stretched upon the chaise longue speculatively.

"We-ell, between thirty and thirty-four years old," he answered finally.
"Of course, you understand that that estimate is unofficial, and must
remain so, until I have completed the autopsy--"

Dundee stared down at the upturned face of the dead woman with startled
incredulity. Between thirty and thirty-four years old! That tiny,
lovely--But she was not quite so lovely in death, in spite of the
serenity it had brought to those once-vivacious features. Peering more
closely, he could see--without those luminous, wide eyes to center his
attention--numerous fine lines on the waxen face, the slackness of a
little pouch of soft flesh beneath her round chin, an occasional white
hair among the shoulder-length dark curls.... Dundee sighed. How easy it
was for a beautiful woman to deceive men with a pair of wide, velvety
black eyes! But he'd bet the women had not been quite so thoroughly
taken in by her cuddly childishness, her odd mixture of demureness and
youthful impudence!

Back in the living room, whose occupants stopped whispering and grew
taut with suspense, Dundee seated himself at a little red-lacquer table,
notebook spread, while Strawn settled himself heavily in the nearest
overstuffed armchair.

"Now, Miss Crain, I am quite ready, if you will forgive me for having
kept you waiting."

In a very quiet voice--slightly husky, as always--Penny began her story:

"I think it lacked two or thr