raised in the lobby, I thought perhaps you could tell me something
which would aid me in my effort to elicit the real facts of the case.
You were crossing the lobby at the time--"

"Yes." She raised her head. "So were a dozen others--"

"Madam,"--the interruption was made in his kindliest tones, but in
a way which nevertheless suggested authority. "Something was picked
up from the floor at that moment. If the dozen you mention were
witnesses to this act we do not know it. But we do know that it
did not pass unobserved by you. Am I not correct? Didn't you see
a certain person--I will mention no names--stoop and pick up
something from the lobby floor?"

"No." The word came out with startling violence. "I was conscious
of nothing but the confusion." She was facing him with determination
and her eyes were fixed boldly on his face. But her lips quivered,
and her cheeks were white, too white now for simple indignation.

"Then I have made a big mistake," apologised the ever-courteous
detective. "Will you pardon me? It would have settled a very
serious question if it could be found that the object thus picked
up was the weapon which killed Miss Challoner. That is my excuse
for the trouble I have given you."

He was not looking at her; he was looking at her hand which rested
on the table before which he himself stood. Did the fingers tighten
a little and dig into the palm they concealed? He thought so, and
was very slow in turning limpingly about towards the door.
Meanwhile, would she speak? No. The silence was so marked, he