Prescott, absorbed in the fingerprint matter, went off to see about it, leaving Belknap to take up the trail alone.

The attorney concluded to go first to Pollard’s, and note for himself the attitude of the man who had threatened Gleason’s life.

He found Manning Pollard in his rooms at the little hotel, and was greeted with courtesy, though with no great cordiality.

“Come in, Mr Belknap,” Pollard said, “I can give you a short interview, but I’ve a piece of important work on hand.”

“I’ll stay only a few minutes,” the other said, ingratiatingly, “but I’d like your help. I know all about that remark of yours concerning your dislike of Mr Gleason. That’s past history—though I may say it will become famous.”

“But why?” broke in Pollard, frowning a little. “You must admit there are lots of people who feel like that——”

“I know, but they don’t put it into words. Just as there are lots of people who would steal if they were sure they’d not be caught. But they don’t, as a rule, advertise this.”

“All right, go ahead. You don’t suspect me of the murder?”

Pollard’s frank glance seemed to compel an honest reply, and Belknap said, “I don’t—but only because it has been proved that it was impossible for you to have been in the vicinity of Gleason’s place at that time.”

“You couldn’t have much more positive proof, I suppose,” and Pollard smiled. “All right, then, what can I do for you?”

“Tell me whom you suspect.” Belknap shot out the words, in an effort to catch Pollard off his guard, for it was the attorney’s belief that the clubman knew more of the matter than he had told.

“You give me a difficult question, Mr Belknap,” Pollard said, in a serious tone. “I daresay everybody has vague suspicions floating through his brain, but to put them in words is—well, might it not start inquiry in a wrong direction and do ultimate harm?”

“It might, if spoken to the public, but to the investigators of the case, I think it is your duty to tell all you know.”

“Oh, I don’t know anything. Not anything. I assure you. But if I were to express an opinion or make a surmise, I should say look for some incident in Mr Gleason’s private life. I know enough of his character and temperament to feel sure that he had friends among people outside the social pale, and it seems to me there’s the direction in which to look. It’s really no secret that Mr Gleason entertained the sort of young ladies who are usually classed under the general title of ‘chorus girls’ whether they are in the chorus or not. Look that way, I imagine, and you will, at least, find food for thought.”

“You don’t know of any particular girl in whom he was interested?”

Pollard stared at him. “I do not. I knew Mr Gleason but slightly. I know nothing of his private affairs, and, as I told you, even the surmise I made is based merely on the man’s general characteristics. I have heard him refer to the girls I spoke of, but only in general conversation, and seldom at that. Please understand, I was not only no friend of Robert Gleason, but scarcely an acquaintance. I never met him more than three or four times.”

“Yet you took a positive dislike to him.”

“I did. I frequently take dislikes at first sight. Or, I am attracted at first sight. Mine is not a unique nature, Mr Belknap. Many people like or dislike a stranger at first meeting.”

“But they don’t threaten to kill them.”

Pollard reached the end of his patience. “Mr Belknap,” he said, “I’m tired of having that remark of mine quoted at me. If it had not chanced that Gleason was killed yesterday, that speech would never have been remembered. I do not deny the remark; I do not deny that it was spoken in earnest. But I do deny that I killed Robert Gleason. Now, if you still suspect me, go to work and bring the crime home to me, if not, let up on your insinuations!”

“All right, I will. I don’t believe for a minute that you had a hand in it—but I hoped you knew something more definite than you’ve told me. And, maybe you do. If for instance, you had suspicion of any friend of yours, or an acquaintance, you would, doubtless, try to throw me off the track, and point my attention to Mr Gleason’s little lady friends.”

Pollard looked at his visitor with fresh interest. “You’re cleverer than I thought,” he said, frankly. “I don’t mind telling you that if I did suspect a friend, the first thing I should do, would be to try to throw the police off his track.”

“Have you no sense of justice—or duty to the state?”

“Quite as much as most people, only I don’t pretend to more than I have—as most people do. Nine men out of ten would protect a friend, only they wouldn’t be so open-mouthed about it.”

“That’s so; and in a way I’m glad you are so frank. Now, if I come to suspect any friend of yours, I shall return to you and get some information—from the things you don’t say!”

“Good for you, Mr Belknap. I like your shrewdness. And, truly, if the time comes when I can help, without running a friend’s head into the noose, I’ll do it.”

“And now, I’m going up to the Lindsay house.”

“I believe I’ll go with you. I may be of some help to them.”

“I thought you were so terribly busy!”

Pollard smiled. “I am. But, my business is a movable feast. I’m a writer, you know.”

“Yes, I know your two books.”

“And I’m just getting out another. I write essays for the magazines, and when I get enough, I bunch ’em up and call it a book.”

“And the reviewers call it a good book,” Belknap complimented.

“Some of them do. But, I’m my own master—if I neglect my work it hurts no one but myself, and nothing but my own bank account. And so, I’ll give up doing a bit of writing I planned for this morning, and go up to the Lindsays’ with you. If I can do anything for them, in any way, I’ll be glad.”

The Lindsay apartment wore the air common to homes where death has entered, yet not to one of the actual household. The shades were partly drawn and a few shaded lamps were lighted. A silent maid admitted the callers and they were shown into the living room where a group of people sat.

The three Lindsays were there, also Doctor Davenport, who had been prescribing for Mrs Lindsay.

“You’re all right,” he was telling her, “just keep quiet and——”

“But, Doctor,” her shrill voice responded, “how can I keep quiet, when I’m so excited? My nerves are on edge—I’m frightened—I can’t sleep or eat or rest——”

“The medicine I prescribed will help all that; now, just obey my orders and do the best you can to keep cool and calm.”

“Let me help you,” and Manning Pollard took the seat next Millicent; “sometimes the mere presence of an unexcitable person helps frazzled nerves.”

“You’re surely that,” and Mrs Lindsay smiled a welcome. “I never saw any one less excitable than you are. Do help to calm me.”

She laid her hand in Pollard’s and sank back in her chair, already quieted by his silent sympathy.

“Wait a minute, Doctor,” Belknap said, as Davenport was about to leave. “I’m asking a few questions, and I want you to tell me as to those two shots that killed Mr Gleason. You don’t mind being present, Mrs Lindsay?”

“Indeed, no. I want to be. I want to know every bit of evidence, every clew to the murderer of my brother! I am not excited over the investigation, I only get nervous when I think you will not avenge the crime!”

“We’re trying our best,” returned Belknap. “What is your theory, Doctor Davenport?”

“I haven’t any,” and the doctor looked slightly embarrassed.

“Well,” Belknap thought to himself, “all these people act queer! Are they all shielding the same person? Is it the precious son of the house?”

“I don’t believe in laymen having theories,” Davenport went on. “Those are for the police to form and then to prove.” He spoke shortly, but in an even time, as one who was sure of what he wanted to say.

“All right,” agreed Belknap, “and to form and prove our theories, we must get all the evidence we can. Now, Doctor, as to those shots.”

The doctor became all the professional man again. “There’s no doubt as to the facts,” he replied, straightforwardly; “the fatal shot was most certainly fired first, and the shot in the shoulder some minutes later—after the man had been dead at least several minutes.”

“How do you, then, explain Mr Gleason’s ability to telephone a message that he was shot?”

“I don’t explain it—nor can I conceive of any explanation. It’s the strangest thing I ever heard of!”

“It is strange,” Belknap mused, “but there must be some explanation. For he did telephone. Your nurse took the message?”

“She did. And she is a most reliable woman. Whatever she reported as to that message, you may depend on as absolute truth. Nurse Jordan has been with me many years, and she is most punctilious in the repetition of messages.”

“Mightn’t he have telephoned after the first shot,” Pollard said, his air more that of one thinking aloud, than of one propounding a theory, “and then with a spasmodic gesture or something, have fired the second shot by accident?”

“The second shot was fired after the man was dead,” repeated Doctor Davenport, positively.

“Then there was a murderer,” Belknap said, “which fact we have decided upon anyway. And an unusually clever murderer, too.”

“But I can’t see it,” Millicent Lindsay said, speaking in a low moaning voice. “Why would anybody shoot my brother after he had already killed him? I can’t see any theory that would explain that.”

“Nor I,” declared the doctor. “It’s the queerest thing I ever knew.”

“Leave that point for the moment,” Belknap advised, “if we get other facts they may throw light on that. Do any of you think that Mr Gleason,” he glanced furtively at Mrs Lindsay to see if he might go on, “was acquainted with—with young ladies——”

“Not in our set?” cried Louis; “he most assuredly was. Now you’re getting on the right tack! You don’t mind this talk, Millicent?”

“No; go on,” returned Mrs Lindsay. “I want to know the truth. And, of course, my brother was no saint. Moreover, if he chose to entertain chorus girls or that sort of people he had a perfect right to do so. I’m not surprised or shocked at anything of that kind. But if they were in any way responsible for his death, I want to know it. Do you know anything definite, Louis?”

“No,” was the reply, but the youth went white.

Belknap studied his face, feeling sure that to go white was not absolutely unusual with the young man. He was apparently anaemic, unstrung, and very emotional. His lips twitched, and he curled and uncurled his fingers.

As a matter of fact, Belknap was looking toward Louis as a possible suspect. Though, as yet, he had no reason for such a suspicion.

“I do,” said Phyllis Lindsay, speaking for the first time during this discussion. “I know he was intimate with some moving picture actresses. He had their photographs in his rooms.”

“When were you there last?” asked Belknap suddenly.

“I don’t know—about a week ago, I think. I called in one day to see a new picture Mr Gleason had just bought.”

Her face was slightly flushed, but she was cool and composed of manner. Belknap despaired of getting any real information here.

Doctor Davenport looked at Phyllis.

“Did you leave anything there?” he asked abruptly.

“Leave anything?” she repeated.

“Yes,” impatiently. “Any of your belongings—wearing apparel?”

“Why, no,” the girl smiled. “I didn’t.”

“Sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure. Unless I dropped a handkerchief, maybe. I’m forever losing those.”

“You didn’t leave a fur collar?”

“Of course I didn’t! My fur collars are too valuable not to keep track of.”

“Then,” and Doctor Davenport drew from his bag a small fur neckpiece. “Then, I guess it’s my duty to show up this. It’s a thing,” he looked a bit embarrassed, “I picked up in Gleason’s room when I first went there last night. I thought it was yours, Phyllis, and I brought it to you.”

“Well, of all performances!” exclaimed Belknap, astonished.

“Oh, come now,” and Davenport smiled, “I meant to give it up sooner, but I forgot it. I only thought, if it should be Phyllis’, she’d rather know about it——”

“All right, as long as I have it now,” and Belknap reached for the fur with an air of authority. “This may be the clew that will lead us straight to the murderer—or murderess.”

“It may,” agreed the doctor, “and it may set you off on the wrong track, hounding some poor little innocent girl!”

“Is it a valuable piece?” and Belknap held it out toward Phyllis.

“I don’t want to touch it,” she shrank back. “Please don’t make me.”

“Let me see it,” said Millicent reaching out a hand. “I’ll soon tell you.”

After a moment’s scrutiny she said, “It’s a fairly good fur, and it’s the latest style; what they call a choker. It’s new this season, but not worth more than thirty or forty dollars.”

“It might belong to ’most anybody, then,” mused Belknap.

“Yes,” said Millicent, “but you see by the label inside, it came from a shop patronized more by bargain hunters than by an exclusive class of customers.”

“Pointing to the less aristocratic type,” Belknap nodded. “Well, we must trace the owner of the collar. Where was it, Doctor?”

“In a chair in the room,” said Davenport, looking as sheepish as a censured schoolboy. “I was a fool I suppose, to take it, but I thought if it belonged to Miss Lindsay, it might lead to a lot of unpleasant notoriety for her——”

“All right, all right,” Belknap shut off his apologies. “Now to find an owner for the fur. Any suggestions?”

He looked around the group, with a general survey, but really scanning Louis’ face, in hopes the boy might show some sign of recognition.

But it was from Pollard that the advice came, “Advertise.”

“Just what I planned to do,” Belknap said: “I’ll take the fur and advertise for its owner. An adroitly worded advertisement ought to bring results.”

There was little more conversation of importance, the attorney merely taking some notes of certain data he desired, and learning of the arrangements for the funeral which was to take place next day at the Funeral Rooms.

“I probably shan’t see you again, Mrs Lindsay, until after I hear from the advertisement,” Belknap told her.

“Oh, come to see me whenever you have any fresh evidence or any news,” she urged him. “After the funeral, may be too late. Follow up all trails—spare no effort. I may be a peculiar person, Mr Belknap, but I can’t help it. I never thought I was of a revengeful nature, but I think it is a righteous indignation that I have now. And I will do anything, spend any amount to find the murderer of my brother.”

“You are his heir?” Belknap asked, casually.

“I have not inquired into that as yet,” was the reply, spoken rather coldly. “I don’t even know whether my brother left a will or not. Mr Lane is his lawyer.”

“My question was not prompted by idle curiosity,” Belknap assured her, “but it is of importance to know who will benefit financially by the death of this rich man.”

“If he left no will,” Mrs Lindsay informed him, “I am the only heir. If he left a will, I’ve no idea as to its contents.”

“I must inquire of Lane, then; though doubtless he will see you on the matter very soon.”

Belknap departed and first thing he did was to put an advertisement in the Lost and Found columns of several evening papers.

And the next afternoon his zeal was rewarded.

He had instructed the owner of the collar to call at a small shop on a side street, which had no apparent connection with Mr Robert Gleason or his affairs.

By arrangement with the proprietor, Belknap himself was behind the counter and greeted the sweetly smiling young woman who came for the fur.

“Are you sure it’s yours?” Belknap asked the fashionably dressed little person.

“No; are you?” she replied, saucily. “But I can describe mine.”

“Go ahead, then.”

“It’s a soft, gray fur, squirrel it’s called. And it has a label inside with the name of the store where it was bought.”

“Yes? And the store is——?”

“Cheapman’s Department Store.” She smiled triumphantly. “Guess you’ll have to give up the goods!”

“It looks that way,” Belknap smiled. “Now where did you lose it?”

“Haven’t the least idea. Somewhere between starting out from home and getting back there.”

“Day before yesterday?”

“Yep. I went to a whole lot of places——”

“Mention some. You see, the store you speak of sells a good many fur collars, so it all depends on where you left yours.”

The girl’s face fell. “Oh, come now,” she said, “s’pose I don’t want to tell?”

“Then I shall think you’re putting up a game on me, and trying to get a fur collar that doesn’t belong to you.”

“Oh, well, it doesn’t. But it does belong to a friend of mine—and I’m after it for her.”

“And she doesn’t want to admit where she lost it?”

“I don’t know why she wouldn’t. But you see, I don’t know all the places she went to, and——”

“Look here, Miss—you’ll have to give your name, you know.”

By this time the girl looked decidedly frightened. “I don’t want to,” she said, almost crying. “Let the old fur go—I don’t want it! I wish I’d kept out of this!”

“Tell me who sent you here, and you can keep out of it.”

The girl brightened decidedly, and looked at Belknap.

“Honest,” she said; “if I tell you who sent me, can I go home?”

“Certainly you may. I’ve no right to detain you.”

“All right, then, it was Mary Morton.”

“Address?”

She gave a street number in the Longacre district, and hurried away almost before Belknap finished writing it down.

Thanking and remunerating the shopkeeper for the use of his premises, Belknap went directly to the address he had obtained.

“Like as not she’ll be out,” he thought, “but if she is, I’ll go again. I’ll bet it’s one of Gleason’s lady friends, and though I’ve no idea she shot him—yet, she might have. Anyway, I’ll get a line on his gay acquaintances. It’s bound to be the owner of the collar, for her friend described it exactly, and gave the right maker’s name.”

Reaching the address given him, Belknap felt a sudden qualm of suspicion. It did not look at all like a boarding house, theatrical or any other kind. In fact it was a shop where electrical goods were sold.

“Upstairs, I s’pose,” Gleason mused, and went in.

But nobody at that number could tell him anything of Miss Mary Morton. No one had ever heard of her, and Belknap was confronted with the sudden conviction that he had been made a fool of!

“Idiot! Dunderhead!” he called himself, angrily, as he left the place. “I am an ass, I declare! That little snip jack took me in completely, with her honest gray eyes! Well, let me see; I’ve a start. That girl described that fur too accurately not to be the owner herself, and I’ll track her down again yet. It can’t be a hard job. I’ll see her picture in some theatrical office or somewhere.”

But it was a hard blow, and Belknap felt pretty sore at Prescott’s jeers when he learned the story.

“Anyway, it’s given us a way to turn,” said Belknap. “We’ve got the fur.”

“Yes,” grinned Prescott, wickedly, “we’ve got the fur, and that’s as fur as we have got!”