Conscience and interest in the "case" combined prompted Lyon to call upon Dr. Barry early the next day and inquire how Mrs. Broughton was.

"Just about as ill as she can be," the doctor answered grimly. "I had left special orders that she was not to see anyone. What in thunder did you mean by forcing yourself upon her in that way?"

"I didn't. She sent for me."

"Sent for you? What for?"

"She wanted to ask me something about the Fullerton case."

"Are you serious?"

"Certainly."

"And was that what you had been talking about when she had that attack?"

"Yes, in general. She used to know Lawrence, and what she particularly wanted to know was whether his situation was serious. She did not seem hysterical at all, or even specially nervous, until she went off suddenly at the end into that awful laughter."

"Well, if she should send for you again, you are not to go without letting me know first. Frankly, I consider that her reason is trembling in the balance, and the greatest care will be necessary to pull her through the crisis safely. I have a trained nurse with her now, and she is not to be allowed to see anyone till the danger point is passed."

"I wish you would let me know when I may safely call upon her."

"That won't be for some time yet. What do you want to see her about?"

"She entrusted me with a commission. I want to report upon it."

"She probably won't remember it when she recovers. I don't consider that she was really responsible for what she may have said or done yesterday. She has had some sort of nervous shock that has shaken her entirely out of the normal. It will take a long time before she is herself."

"When did she call you in?" Lyon asked abruptly.

"Tuesday afternoon. Why?"

"Oh, I just wondered how you came to know so much. Good-by."

He went away with a sense of bafflement. That Mrs. Broughton was in some way connected with the tragedy, and that the nervous shock from which she suffered dated from that evening, seemed to have been made so patent that he had all the eagerness of the hunter to run the facts down. And yet to do so under the present circumstances was almost brutal. How could he raise a breath of suspicion against a woman who was trembling on the verge of mental derangement as a consequence of what he had seen or had possibly had a share in? And yet if the truth would serve to clear two innocent people from suspicion, could he justify himself in not speaking? More and more he felt inclined to entertain the idea that the woman he had seen running across the street was Mrs. Broughton. If he could but establish this as a fact and so clear Lawrence's mind of the conviction that it was Miss Wolcott, he felt that Lawrence would probably be able to clear himself of the shadow under which he rested without difficulty. Brutal or not, he must get the facts,--quietly if possible, but he must get them. It would be more brutal to let the innocent suffer than to fix the crime upon the guilty, however sympathetic he might feel toward the latter. He determined to go quietly on and gather what information he could without at present sharing his suspicions with anyone. With this end in view he went to the Wellington, Fullerton's home.

He hunted up the elevator boy in the first place, and soon established a thoroughly satisfactory understanding with him on the basis of some theater tickets.

"Now I want to see how good a memory you have, Johnny. You know that lady who came to see Mr. Fullerton that evening,--"

"Yes, sir, I remember all about her."

"Did you know who she was?"

"No, sir, she kept her veil down all the time. But she was an elegant lady. She had on a dress that swished when she walked, and an elegant muff and coat."

"What were they like?"

"Why, just fur."

"There are lots of kinds of fur. Did you notice particularly?"

"Why, dark fur, I guess," Johnny answered hopefully. "Yes, elegant black fur."

Lyon saw he was improvising and passed on to another point.

"What time did she come?"

John brightened into positiveness. "Half past seven. I know that for sure, because that was when I told her she would be apt to find him, and so I was watching out for her when she came."

"Oh, then she had been here before?"

"Yes, she came twice in the afternoon, but Mr. Fullerton was out. I told her she would find him for sure if she came at half past seven, because he wouldn't be going out in the evening before eight, but she was so anxious that she came again about four o'clock. I knew he wouldn't be here then, and it was just as I said."

"When you told her to come at half past seven, didn't she look at her watch?"

"Yes, she did!"

"What kind of a watch was it?"

"A little watch. I don't remember. But, gee, It was on a dandy chain all right!"

"I don't believe you remember the chain any better than you do the watch."

"Yes, I do. It was a long chain that went around the neck and she wore it outside of her coat, dangling, with a purse at the end. The watch was inside the purse. The chain was gold, with red stones in it here and there, and they sparkled like anything."

Lyon recognized the fidelity of the description. Mrs. Broughton had worn a long chain of enameled gold links, set with rubies magnificent enough to have excited the admiration of even less appreciative observers than an elevator boy. It would be crediting too much to coincidence to suppose that there could be another chain of so unusual a style worn by someone else that day.

"Had that lady ever been here before?" he asked.

Johnny was positive on that score. "No, she was a stranger. The first time she came, early in the afternoon, she didn't know where his room was, and I took her around and rang the bell for her myself. I never seen her before. She had a funny way of talking,--'Misteh Fullehton,'"--and he mimicked the soft evasion of the "r" that had characterized Mrs. Broughton's speech.

"Good for you, Johnny. You are doing well. Now do you know when she went away?"

"She and Mr. Fullerton went out together about eight o'clock."

"Now think carefully about this. Was there any other lady who came to see Mr. Fullerton that afternoon?"

"No."

"Or in the forenoon or in the evening? Any time at all on Monday?"

Johnny looked a little uncertain of his ground.

"They don't always say who they want. They just say 'Second floor,' or 'fifth,' you know. And sometimes they walk up."

"Then if there was anyone else who came to see Mr. Fullerton that day, you wouldn't know about it?"

Johnny dived into his memory.

"There was another lady here that evening, but I don't know who she wanted to see. She didn't say."

"When did she come? What do you know about her?"

"She came just after the lady with the long chain, because I met her in the hall as I came back from ringing Mr. Fullerton's bell. I thought she was going to the Stewarts' apartment because there isn't anyone else at that end of the hall except the Stewarts and Mr. Fullerton. Then when Mr. Fullerton and the lady came out and went down together, this other lady was in the hall again. I held the elevator for her, but she turned her back and I went down."

"Did you take her down later?"

"No, she must have walked down."

"Can you describe her? Did you see her face?"

"Na, she had a veil on."

Lyon inwardly anathematized the feminine expedient of wearing veils.

"Can't you remember anything about her?"

"I didn't see her close," he said apologetically.

"Have you told anybody else about Mr. Fullerton's visitor, Johnny?"

"Mr. Bede was here, asking me all about her the next day."

"Did you tell him the same things you have told me?"

"I didn't tell him about the chain. I didn't think about her looking at her watch until you reminded me."

"Oh, well, that isn't important," said Lyon, carelessly. "Did you mention the other lady to Mr. Bede?"

"No. Was she a-comin' to see Mr. Fullerton, too?"

"Not that I know of. What made you notice her, by the way?"

"She was a stranger. Most people that come here I know."

"You've done very well, Johnny. Now I want to see the janitor. What's his name?"

"Mr. Hunt."

He proceeded to look up Mr. Hunt, and preferred his request that he be allowed to inspect the rooms of the late Mr. Fullerton, but he found that functionary disposed to make the most of the temporary importance which the tragedy had conferred upon him.

"Them rooms is locked up. The public ain't admitted. The police has took the key."

"But you have a duplicate key, you know."

"And what if I have?"

"Why, you could let me in for half an hour."

"What for should I do that? This ain't no public museum, and I ain't no public Information Bureau to answer all the fool questions that people as ain't got nothing else to do can think of asking."

"I dare say that people have been imposing on you," said Lyon, with that serious and sympathetic air which served him so well on occasion. "But that's the penalty which you have to pay for being a man of importance. I like to meet a man of your sort. You're not the kind to let every curiosity seeker in. But this is different. You know I am writing this case up for the News and I think I'll have to have your picture for the paper, with a little write-up. No reason why you shouldn't get something out of all this. You let me into those rooms for half an hour, and I'll see that you have a notice that your wife will cut out and frame."

He had his way in the end, of course, and Hunt, grumbling but gratified, took him up by the back stairs, adm............