“Now that the money is paid, Phyllis, dear, and the whole matter is hushed up, Louis will never be suspected of having had anything to do with that Bill Halsey gang. It was a narrow escape—if the story had come out, it would have stained the boy’s reputation badly. But, thanks to your quick action and watchful care, your brother is released from their clutches and you need worry about that no more.”

“Thanks, too, to your kindness in letting me have the money. I will repay you just as soon as Mr Lane settles financial matters enough to give it to me out of my inheritance.”

“No hurry about it. Instead of that, let’s talk about ourselves. When are you going to let me give you a ring?”

“Oh, not yet,” and Phyllis looked distressed. “Wait till this awful matter of the Gleason death is explained.”

“Will it ever be?” Pollard spoke gravely, and added, “Do you want it to be?”

“Oh,” she cried, “don’t look like that! Do you suspect Louis, too? Buddy never did it! Never!”

“No, of course he didn’t. Do you sometimes think Phil——”

“Philip Barry! No! He says he did, to shield my brother——”

“And you.”

“Me!”

“Yes. Let’s speak frankly, Phyllis. I can’t bear to fence or quibble with you. Now, you know, you and Louis were there——”

“Oh, no, we weren’t—well—maybe we were—oh, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“Poor little girl. Don’t try to make up stories to me. Tell me just how it was—or, don’t tell me anything—as you wish, but don’t tell me what isn’t so. I can’t help you if you do that.”

Phyllis looked at him searchingly. She trusted him—and yet, she hesitated to put into words her own suspicions of Louis.

“I’m sure Phil Barry is shielding some one else,” she began.

“But, dear, that letter—how could that have been written, except by Barry?”

“Now, don’t you prevaricate to me!” she cried; “you know whatever is the explanation of the letter, Phil Barry isn’t guilty!”

“I don’t know any such thing! If Barry wrote the letter, he must have meant something by it, and until he is proved innocent, there’s good reason for suspecting him.”

“Don’t you suspect Louis?” Phyllis asked directly, facing Pollard with a straightforward gaze.

“Don’t ask me, dear. If I did—if I do—I wouldn’t say so, because—because I love you. Confide in me—please do, darling. If you suspect your brother, tell me so, and I’ll do all I can to divert suspicion from him.”

“Even if you think him guilty?”

“Certainly. If Louis did it—he was blinded by rage, or, moved by a sudden homicidal impulse born of desperation——”

“But that doesn’t excuse him.”

“Not to the law—but to me, he is excused because he is your brother——”

“Yes, my brother—my little Buddy—oh, Manning, I can’t face it!”

“You weren’t there, too—at the time?”

“At the time of the murder? Oh, no!” Phyllis’ eyes were wide with horror.

“Do you know that Louis was there?”

Pollard pressed the question, glad that Phyllis had abandoned pretense, and was telling truths.

“Yes, I do.” The pained eyes looked beseechingly into his. “I have the evidence of an eye-witness—or, nearly.”

“What do you mean by nearly?”

“Why, somebody else was there, who didn’t see Louis, but who heard him—or, rather, heard Mr Gleason talking to him.”

“Is that all? Phyllis, that isn’t enough to convict Louis!”

“Isn’t it? But, if they accuse him—he’ll break down and confess. I know Buddy; as soon as a breath of suspicion touches him he’ll go all to pieces——”

“Whether he’s guilty or not?”

Phyllis stared. “Why, no, of course not if he isn’t guilty. Oh, Manning, do you think he isn’t? Tell me you do!”

“I wish I could, darling. But, I do say, there’s no real evidence and we may be able to prevent any from coming to light. Even if Louis was there, didn’t he leave before the time of the attack?”

“I don’t know. I can’t find out. I daren’t mention it to him. Oh, Buddy, dear—I’m sure you never did it!”

“I’m sure, too,” said Pollard, decidedly, and, whatever was in his mind there was conviction in his tone. “Now, see here, Phyllis, let’s do nothing in the matter. As near as I can make out, Barry’s confession is not believed at all by the police. They are sure he’s shielding some one, but they don’t know who it is. Of course, Barry won’t tell, so Louis is safe.”

“But suppose they do come to believe Phil, and he is arrested!”

“Not a chance.”

“But if they should?”

“Would you care so much?” Pollard spoke softly, and tenderly. “If it should mean Louis’ safety——”

“At the expense of an innocent man? Oh, impossible!”

“But you love Buddy——”

“I do, yes—but if he is guilty—nobody else can be allowed to suffer in his place. Least of all, Phil Barry.”

Phyllis said the name, with a gentler light in her eyes, a softer inflection of her voice, and Pollard felt a sudden chill at his heart.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, quietly, “anything especial?”

“No—oh, no,” but Phyllis blushed.

“Remember, dear, you’re engaged to me,” Pollard said, smiling at her. “I resent such implications of any other interest of yours.”

“You resent my interest in Phil Barry! Why, I thought he was your best friend.”

“He is. But he can’t be yours. Not your best friend—only second-best.”

“Well, he’s too dear a friend for me to let any undeserved suspicion fall on him,” and Phyllis’ eyes shone with righteous indignation.

“First, we must be sure it is undeserved.”

“Very well, I will make sure!”

With a determined gesture, Phyllis pushed a bell button and a maid responded.

“Ask Mr Lindsay to come here,” Phyllis directed, and then turning to Pollard with a pretty gesture of confidence, she said:

“Let’s work together, Manning. You see what you think of the way Louis meets my questions. I’ve decided to meet the issue straight.”

“What is it, Sis?” asked Louis, coming into the room. “What do you want of me? Hello, Pollard, how are you?”

“Buddy, dear,” Phyllis began, “where were you the day Mr Gleason died?”

“Out with it Phyl. Do you think I killed him?”

Louis looked at his sister. The boy was haggard, pale and worried looking, but he met her eye and awaited her answer to his question.

“No, Louis, I can’t think so—but there are circumstances that make it appear possible, and I want your word.”

“Well, then, Phyllis, I didn’t do it.”

Calmly the brother gazed at the sister. Anxiously, Phyllis scanned the well-known face, the affectionate eyes, the sensitive, quivering mouth, but though agitated, Louis had himself well in hand, and his frank speech carried conviction.

Phyllis drew a long breath.

“I believe you, Buddy,” she said.

Pollard was quiet for a moment, and then observed, “All right, Lindsay. And, in that case, you’re probably willing to tell all about your presence there that afternoon. Why haven’t you done so?”

Pollard’s tone was not accusing so much as one of friendly inquiry, and Louis, after a moment’s hesitation, replied:

“Why, Pol, I suppose I was a coward. I was afraid, if I admitted I was in Gleason’s place that afternoon, I might be suspected of the crime—and I’m innocent—before God, I am.”

The solemn voice rang true, and Phyllis clasped his hand as she said, “I know it, Buddy, I know you never did it!”

“But, if it comes out I was there, I can’t help being suspected,” Louis went on, a look of terror coming to his face. “I—oh, I hate to confess it, but I am afraid. Not afraid of justice—but afraid I’ll be accused of something I didn’t do!”

“You would, too, Louis,” Pollard said. “Better keep still about the whole matter, I think. You see, Louis, except for the murderer, you are probably the last one who saw Gleason alive. Now, that, in itself is troublesome evidence, especially if the murderer doesn’t turn up. That is why, I think, my theory of the stranger from the West is undoubtedly the true one. You see, none of the people hereabouts—I mean you, Barry, Davenport, myself, or any of us Club men could have been down there so late, and then turned up here for the dinner party. Of course, that would have been possible, but highly improbable. While an outsider, a man known to Gleason but not to any of use, could have come and gone at will.”

“He had to reach the Gleason apartment soon after Buddy left,” Phyllis mused, thinking it out. “Well, Manning, I’m convinced of Buddy’s innocence. My boy can’t lie to me! I know him too well. He is worried and anxious about the suspicions that may attach to him, but he’s absolutely innocent of crime, aren’t you, dear?”

And Louis looked into his sister’s face, and quietly replied, “Yes, Phyllis,” and she believed him.

“Now,” she said, “I’m going to free Phil Barry.”

“You!” exclaimed Pollard. “Are you going to turn detective?”

“I’m going to help the detectives work,” she declared. “Or, rather, I’m going to get a detective that can work. I don’t think much of what has been accomplished so far. I’m going to get another detective——”

“A private detective?” asked Pollard. “Better be careful, dear. Don’t get mixed up in this thing too deeply.”

“No, I won’t. I’m not going to do anything myself. But, I want to tell you something. Ivy Hayes knows of a girl——”

“Ivy Hayes!” exclaimed Louis, while Pollard raising his eyebrows, murmured, “A girl!”

“I seem to have exploded two bombshells!” said Phyllis, smiling.

She was in better spirits now, since the assurance of Louis that he was not guilty.

“But it is the truth. Ivy Hayes knows of a girl detective——”

“Oh, Phyllis, don’t!” begged Pollard. “A private detective is bad enough—but a girl one! Please don’t.”

“But she’s a wonder—Ivy says so.”

“Sister, for goodness’ sake, don’t tell me you know Ivy Hayes!”

“Certainly I do, Louis. If you may know her why can’t I? And I like her, too. And she’ll get this person for me, and I know Millicent will agree——”

“Quite a feminine bunch,” Pollard laughed. “Do you think you and Mrs Lindsay and Miss Hayes and the girl sleuth can succeed where several men have failed?”

“That’s just what I do think,” cried Phyllis, triumphantly. “This is the era of feminine achievement, and why not in detection as well as in other lines?”

“Have it your own way,” said Pollard, looking at her fondly. “I must go now, but if I can help you—though, being a mere man, I suppose I can’t——”

“Oh, yes, you can,” Phyllis smiled at him. “I’ll be only too glad to call upon you for assistance.” Pollard left, and Phyllis at once called Ivy on the telephone to get more information about the girl detective.

“Oh, it isn’t a girl!” Ivy replied; “that is, it is a girl, but it’s a man, too. They’re associated, you see. Of course, the man is the head of the firm—but the girl, who is his assistant, does quite as much of the work as he does. And, she’s my friend, that’s why I spoke of her as the detective. But he’s the one to call on. He’s Pennington Wise—they call him Penny Wise—how could they help it! Well, he’s your man, and she’s your girl. I used to know her, when we were both kids, and I don’t see her often nowadays, but we’re good friends, and she’s a wonder.”

“You’re a wonder, too, Ivy,” Phyllis said; “thank you lots and heaps. Give me the address, and I’ll excuse you.”

Ivy gave the number, and Phyllis went at once and told the story to Millicent.

“Oh, do get him!” cried Mrs Lindsay. “I’ve heard of Penny Wise—he’s a wizard! I don’t know anything about his girl assistant—but that doesn’t matter. Penny Wise is great! I’ve often heard of him. He’s frightfully expensive, but they say he never loses a case. But, Phyllis, I never suspected Louis! How could you think I did! But—don’t faint now—I do suspect Phil Barry!”

“It doesn’t matter much whom you suspect to-day, Millicent, it will be somebody else to-morrow! Aren’t you about due to suspect me again?”

“You! oh, Phyllis, don’t remind me of the foolish things I said, when I was hysterical and almost crazy! You know how you’d feel if Louis had been killed! You’d suspect anybody!”

“All right, Millicent, I’ll forget it. But I don’t believe for one minute that Philip Barry is the guilty man.”

“You don’t! Why, Phyllis, I thought you did!”

“Oh, I don’t know what I think,” and Phyllis broke down and sobbed.

“There, there, dear child,” Millicent soothed her. “Don’t cry. You’re all worried to pieces. Now, let’s get the Wise man, and then you shift all care and anxiety on to him.”

“But, Millicent, suppose he should prove it to be Phil!”

“If it is Phil, he ought to be shown up. We can’t stop now, for sentiment or preference. We must go ahead and prove positively who is the criminal.”

When Millicent took the tone of an avenging justice, she was almost humorous, so ill did the role fit her. But she was in earnest, and she immediately set to work to engage the services of Pennington Wise.

Her efforts were vain, however, as the detective politely informed her that his press of business would not permit him to take on another case at present.

Greatly disappointed, she told Phyllis, who at once told Ivy Hayes, over the telephone, of her defeat.

“Huh,” said the young woman, “won’t come, won’t he? Well, I guess he will. Expect him this evening, to talk over the preliminaries.”

For the sanguine Ivy felt sure her childhood friend could somehow persuade the great detective to meet the engagement she had just committed him to.

“Zizi,” Miss Hayes later remarked, to her friend, “You just simply got to take on the Gleason case. You hear me?”

“Hear you perfectly,” Zizi’s engaging little voice replied. “But——”

“No buts. You just do it. Why, Ziz, it’s all mixed up with friends of mine. And say, dearie, I want you to do it for old times’ sake.”

“But, Ivy, truly——”

“Truly you will? All right, Ziz. You make Penny Wise stand around—you fix it somehow—and you send him or go yourself to the Lindsay home this evening at eight o’clock. Love and kisses. Your own Ivy.”

Ivy hung up the receiver, satisfied that if her friend didn’t or couldn’t meet her wishes, she would call her up and tell her so. Not hearing from Zizi, Ivy concluded all was going well.

And it was. Zizi, the wonderful little assistant of the great detective, coaxed and finally persuaded him to take the case, assuring him that she, herself, would do most of the work. She put it on the grounds of a personal favor to herself, and as this was so unusual a condition as to be almost unique, Pennington Wise gave in.

And so, promptly at eight, he presented himself at the Lindsays’ and was received with welcome.

For an hour Wise listened to the accounts of the case from the three Lindsays. No one else was present, and Wise asked them to tell him all they could, both of direct evidence or their own leanings or suspicions.

The detective was a man of great personal magnetism. Tall and strong, his very bearing inspired confidence and hope. His face was fine and mobile, his wavy chestnut hair, brushed over back, was fine and thick, and his keen blue eyes took in everything without any undue curiosity.

He was both receptive and responsive, and in an hour he had the history of the case, clearly and definitely in his mind.

“Now, then,” he said, “we can admit of several suspects already. There was a motive, let us say, for any one who benefited by Mr Gleason’s will. That includes Mr and Miss as well as Mrs Lindsay.”

Millicent frowned at him. “Me!” she cried, explosively.

“I only say you benefited by the will,” said Wise, mildly. “I have as much right to mention your name as those of the other two.”

“Louis didn’t get anything from the will,” said Phyllis.

“He did, in a way,” the detective returned. “You’re so fond of your brother, that whatever is yours, is pretty much the same as belonging to him. Now, I’m not going to consider you two ladies as suspects at all. But Mr Lindsay’s cause I shall look into.”

Louis colored, angrily, and was about to make a sharp retort, when the kindness of Wise’s expression caught his notice, and he suddenly decided he’d like to be friends with the detective.

“Look into it all you like,” he said, with an air of relief at giving his troubles over to this capable person. “I’m glad to have you. You see, Mr Wise, I was there so fearfully close to the time of the crime, that I’ve been afraid to have it known how close.”

“Don’t be afraid, my boy. If you’re guilty I’ll find it out, anyway; and if not, you’ve more to gain than lose by being frank and honest.”

“Who are your other suspects?” Phyllis asked, anxiously.

“Everybody,” said Wise, smiling at her. “First, Doctor Davenport——”

“Oh, no!”

“First, Doctor Davenport, because, he first raised the alarm. Next, Mr Pollard, because he declared an intention of killing Mr Gleason. Next, Mr Monroe, because——”

“Dean Monroe!” exclaimed Louis, “why he has never been thought of!”

“That’s the answer!” said Wise. “He was in that group who discussed murder that afternoon, he went away, his subsequent movements have not been traced, and, as you say, he’s never been questioned or even thought of in the matter. Therefore, I investigate his case.”

“And Philip Barry?” Phyllis could hold back the question no longer.

“Ah, yes, Mr Barry.” Pennington Wise looked at her. “You are interested in him? Especially? Forgive me if I seem intrusive. I am not really, but I have to know some things to know how to go about others.”

“Miss Lindsay is engaged to Mr Pollard,” Millicent informed the inquirer. “She’s a firm friend of Mr Barry’s, but, I think you ought to know that Manning Pollard is her fiance.”

“Yes,” Phyllis said, as Wise asked the question by a glance. “I am engaged to Mr Pollard, but I don’t want Mr Barry suspected.”

“Not if he did it?”

“He didn’t do it.”

“But the letter? He wrote that?”

“No; he did not.”

“He says he did. It is signed by him. It is in keeping with his nature and his attitude toward Mr Gleason. Why do you say he didn’t write it?”

“I don’t know, Mr Wise. I have a feeling, a conviction that somebody forged that letter.”

“But how would that be possible?”

“I don’t know. I can’t tell you. But I’m sure.”

“I haven’t seen the letter yet, Miss Lindsay,” Pennington Wise looked at her reflectively. “And until I do, I can’t speak positively. But I’ve read up this case, more or less, and I can’t see how a forgery could pass the experts as this has done. I incline to think it is genuine. But it need not have implied murder at all.”

“No,” repeated Phyllis, “he didn’t write it. I know he didn’t.”

“If he didn’t, trust me to find it out,” Wise reassured her. And, as they heard the bell ring, “I dare say that’s my little assistant. She agreed to come later. I want you to like her.”

“I know I shall,” said Phyllis, enthusiastically; “I’ve heard about her from Miss Hayes.”

And in another moment Zizi appeared in the doorway.