one door to another. But I still think it’s queer that I didn’t see anything of the man Jenny describes.”

“One reason is, there wasn’t any such man,” and Hudson seemed to enjoy my blank look.

“What became of the murderer, then?”

“Went down in the car with Mr. Gately. Private elevator. Shot him on the way down——”

“But man, I heard the shot,—and this room was full of smoke.”

“Shot him twice, then. Say the first time, Mr. Gately wasn’t killed and could get into the elevator. Then murderer jumps in, too, and finishes the job on the way down. It’s a long trip to the ground floor, you know. Then, murderer leaves elevator, slams door shut, and walks off.”

I ruminated on this. It seemed absurd on the face of it, and yet——

“Why, then, did Jenny say she saw a man?” demanded Norah.

“Maybe she thought she did,—you know people think they see what they think they ought to see. Jenny heard a shot, and running in, she expected to see a man with a pistol,—therefore, she thought she did see him. Or, again, the girl is quite capable of making up a yarn out of the solid. For the dramatic effect, you know, and to put her silly little self in the limelight.”

This was not unbelievable. Jenny was most unreliable as a witness. She stumbled and contradicted herself as to the man’s hat and had given conflicting testimony about his overcoat.

“Well, as I say, Mr. Brice, the chance was yours to be on the spot but you missed it. Of course, you are not to blame,—but it’s a pity. Now, s’pose you tell me again, as near as you can rec’lect, about that other shadow,—the one that wasn’t Mr. Gately.”

I tried hard to add to my previously related details, but found it impossible to do so.

“Well, could it have been a woman?”

“At first I should have said no, Mr. Hudson. But on thinking it over, I suppose I may say it could have been but I do not think it was.”

“You know nowadays the women folks wear their hair plastered so close to their heads that their heads wouldn’t shadow up any bigger’n a man’s.”

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