“How do you know?”

“Take me over there and I’ll show you. They’ll let me in, with you to back me.”

We went across and the officer made no objections to our entrance. In fact, he seemed rather glad of someone to talk to.

“We’re sorta up against it,” he confessed. “Our suspicions are all running in one direction, and we don’t like it.”

“You have a suspect, then?” I asked.

“Hardly that, but we begin to think we know which way to look.”

“Any clews around, to verify your suspicions?”

“Lots of ’em. But take a squint yourself, Mr. Brice. You’re shrewd-witted, and—my old eyes ain’t what they used to was.”

I took this mock humility for what it was worth,—nothing at all,—and I humored the foxy one by a properly flattering disclaimer.

But I availed myself of his permission and tacitly assuming that it included Norah, we began a new scrutiny of the odds and ends on Mr. Gately’s desk, as well as other details about the rooms.

Norah opened the drawer that Mr. Talcott had locked,—the key was now in it.

“Where’s the checkbook?” she asked, casually.

Hudson looked grave. “Mr. Pond’s got that,” he said; “Mr. Pond’s Mr. Gately’s lawyer, and he took all his accounts and such. But that check-book’s a clew. You see the last stub in it shows a check drawn to a woman——”

“I said it was a woman!” exclaimed Norah.

“Well, maybe,—maybe. Anyhow the check was drawn after the ones made out to Smith and the Driggs woman. So, the payee of that last check was in here later than the other two.”

“Who was she?” was Norah’s not unnatural inquiry.

But Hudson merely looked at her, with a slight smile that she should expect an answer to that question.

“Oh, all right,” she retorted; “I see her hatpin is still here.”

“If that there hatpin is a clew, you’re welcome to it. We don’t think it is. Mr. Gately had frequent lady callers, 

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