Then everyone started talking at once. The Inspector took over, very swiftly and efficiently, at that point, and Wayland and Inga Rasmussen were hustled off down the hall in different directions. After a little while Piper returned to his office, mopping his forehead. Miss Withers sat there quite alone, reading Tropical Adventure Tales.

He nodded jubilantly. “They’re both confessing a mile a minute, each trying to put the blame on the other one. Even if they repudiate the confessions later, we’ve got more than we need.”

“Red-heads are hot-headed,” Miss Withers observed. “I counted on that.” She looked at her watch. “Five-thirty. I’m sorry there isn’t time to stop that feature story.”

“Huh? Oh, that won’t matter. The editor will just look like a fool, panning us for a murder that was all washed up two days before.” He looked around. “Where’s young Bartz?”

“Gone to turn in his badge, for being made such a fool of. She never intended to marry him, but it was a wonderful cover-up for her while Wayland cashed in on their loot. And she had a direct pipe-line for information on what the police were doing on the case.”

Piper grinned. “I’ll let him sweat for a day or two, and then reprimand him and forget it. I think I’ll call the boys in the press room and give them the story. You’ll get credit, too—that was darn smart of you, memorizing the magazines in the cellar and then getting back copies and reading through all of them to uncover the inspiration for the murder.” He looked up. “Hey, where you going?”

“I was just getting near the exit,” Miss Withers said softly. “So I can make a run for it after I confess that the magazine was a fake. Oscar, I wrote that story myself, and paid to have it set in type and bound into a copy of an old pulp magazine similar to the ones in Wayland’s cellar. I thought he wouldn’t remember for sure—and you said if we could only prove where he got the idea—”

“Go on,” commanded the Inspector grimly.

“So I knew the Goodwill people were going to pick up some stuff in Wayland’s cellar, and I got in touch with a reformed bum who works for them—I used to give him dimes now and then—and he planted the magazine this afternoon!”

“Great Judas Priest!” whispered the Inspector.

“So we’ll never know where Wayland actually did get the idea, but I happen to know that Inga likes to tell her dreams at the breakfast table. It might very well have been one of her nightmares—a nightmare that came true!”

She adjusted her hat so that it perched a little more precariously than before, and started out. “Come back here!” the Inspector commanded.

Miss Withers smiled feebly. “You’re not furious with me?”