"Where was the paint-box?"

"'Way back, on a cupboard shelf. Pushed back, behind a pile of old
books."

"Planted evidence," suggested Crane. "The real criminal put it there to
incriminate Mr. Thorpe."

"Not a chance!" said Weston, smiling. "I've had that place watched too
closely for that, sir! Nobody could get in to plant evidence, or to do
anything else without being seen by my men. No, sir, that bottle in Mr.
Thorpe's paint-box was put there by his own hand, and it will prove his
undoing."

"But it's absurd!" flashed Julie. "Mr. Thorpe never killed his
friend,--but if he had done so, he wouldn't be fool enough to leave such
evidence around!"

"He couldn't help himself, Miss Crane. When he used the bottle that
night, he had to secrete it somewhere, and since then he has been too
closely watched to dare to take it from its hiding-place and dispose of
it."

"But I don't see how he could have done it," Crane objected. "How could
he persuade Blair to take a dose of poison?"

"Oh, in lots of ways. Say, they had a highball or that,--all he had to
do was to drop the tiniest speck from the little vial into the drink. He
could easily do that unobserved. Anyway, he did do it. Then, of course,
afterward, he had ample chance to clean the glasses and remove every
trace of crime, except that he had to conceal the bottle. This he did in
the most obvious way. Exactly the way any one would try to secrete such
a thing. The bottle had been emptied and washed, but that poison has
such an enduring odor that it is practically impossible to eliminate it
entirely. But there's the fact, Mr. Crane, now, unless another suspect
can be found, it's all up with Mr. Thorpe."

"Then we'll find another suspect!" exclaimed Julie.

"Go ahead, Miss. I'll investigate your new man, as soon as you name him.
That's the important part of this affair, there's no chance of another
suspect. No one has been so much as thought of----"

"That doorman?" said Julie.

"Nixy! He had no motive, no opportunity,--and there's not the slightest
reason to suspect him."

"Some outsider, then," went on Julie, desperately, "some fellow artist,
who feared Gilbert would win that prize----"

"Miss Crane, you must know that's the motive attributed to Mr. Thorpe.
You must know that he and Mr. Blair were rivals in that competition
and----"

Julie's eyes flashed fire. "And you mean to say that he killed his
friend,--his chum,--in order to be sure of winning the