and Ferguson showed his disappointment.

"Hasn't Miss McIntyre been to see you?"

"No," was Kent's truthful answer; Barbara was the younger twin and
her sister was therefore, "Miss McIntyre."

"You must recollect, Ferguson," he added, "that had Miss McIntyre
called to see me about poor Turnbull, I would not have discussed
the interview with any one, under any conditions."

"Certainly. I am not asking you to break any confidences; in fact,"
Ferguson smiled, "I must ask you to consider our conversation
confidential. Now, Mr. Kent, does it not strike you as odd that
apparently the only man in Washington who really disliked Turnbull
was Colonel McIntyre, and it is his daughter who intimates that
Turnbull's death was not due to natural causes?"

"Oh, pshaw!" Kent shrugged his shoulders. "You are taking an
exaggerated view of the affair. Colonel McIntyre is an honorable
upright American, and Turnbull was the same."

"People speak highly of both men," acknowledged the detective.
I saw Mr. Clymer, president of Turnbull's bank this afternoon, and
he paid a fine tribute to his dead cashier."

Kent drew an inward sigh of relief. Benjamin Clymer had proved
true blue; he had not permitted Colonel McIntyre's desire for
immediate publicity and belief in Turnbull's guilt to shake his
faith in his friend.