"Well, that is beyond me. Jean Baptiste acted suspicious in my opinion, and it is certainly strange that he should have been in the position he was at such a crucial time."

"May I consult with your wife?"

Glavis looked around, uneasily. "She is very much torn up by the incident," he suggested.

"But this is a very grave matter."

"Well," and he turned and entered the room wherein Ethel had enclosed herself.

"Ethel, an officer has called and wishes to consult with you."

"No, no, no!" she yelled. "Send him away. Didn't I tell you I didn't want to see no police," and she fell to crying. The detective had entered the room in the meantime, and when she looked up, she saw him.

"What are you doing in here?" she fairly screamed. He did not flinch under the glare she turned upon him. Indeed, the day was at last come when she could frighten no one. The one she had been able to drive to any lengths with such a propaganda, lay stiff at the morgue. The detective regarded her searchingly, and upon realizing he was not going to jump and run, she ceased that unseemly noise making and began crying, woefully.

"You discovered this tragedy, madam?" he inquired calmly, but with a note of firmness in his tone.

"Yes, yes!—oh, my poor sister! My poor father—and that low down man!"

"When did you discover this, madam?"

"Just as soon as it was done, oh me!"

"How did you come to discover it, lady?"

"By my sister's scream. She screamed so loud it seemed everybody must have heard it. Screamed when he stuck that knife into her breast!"

"How long after you heard her scream was it before you came out of the room—your room?"

"I came at once," she said sulkily, and tried to cry louder. The detective was thoughtful.

"So you came at once! And what did you see when you came out?"

At this she seemed overcome, and it was some moments before he could get her answer, and that was after he had repeated.

"My sister and father lying murdered in the room there."

"Is that all you saw?"

She was sulky again. After a time she muttered. She wrinkled her face but the tears would not come. Presently she said, and the detective caught an effort on her part to say it.

"Yes. But I think I heard a door slam downstairs."

"You think you heard a door slam? What happened next?"

"My husband came."

"How long after the door slammed was it before your husband came?"

"Not long."

"Is it not possible that when you heard the door slam, that it was your husband coming in?"

"No. I heard the door slam behind him, too." Again he thought he detected something singular in her manner, as if she were not telling all she knew....

The detective went downstairs and talked with Mrs. McCarthy a few minutes, and then took his leave. He called up Agnes, and made an appointment and met her some hours later.