“Oh, people often went through the hall doors of number two or three, and sometimes they came through my room.”

“Who went through your room this afternoon?”

“Only three people. An old man named Smith——”

“What was his business?”

“I’m not quite sure, but it had to do with his getting a part salary from Mr. Gately; he was a down-and-outer, and he hoped Mr. Gately would help him through.”

“And did he?”

“Oh, yes, sir! Mr. Gately always was soft-hearted and never turned down anybody in need.”

“And the other callers?”

“There was an old lady, to see about her husband’s pension,—and——”

“Well? I suppose not all the callers were beneficiaries?”

“No, sir. One was a—a lady.”

“A lady? Describe her.”

“Why, she was Miss Olive Raynor,—Mr. Gately’s ward.”

“Oh, Miss Raynor. Well, there’s no use discussing her. Were there any other ladies?”

“No, sir.”

“Nor any other men?”

“No, sir; that is, not through my room. You know, people could go in to Mr. Gately’s private offices without going through my room.”

“Yes, I know. But couldn’t you see them?”

“Only dimly,—through the clouded glass window between my room and Mr. Gately’s.”

“And what did you see of the callers in Mr. Gately’s room just before you heard the shot fired?”

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