Durand shrugged his shoulders wearily. “Why, that doesn’t matter. You meant it kindly, I know. For a moment, in spite of all that has happened, I did allow myself to hope—I did think that it might really be Eve. Silly of me—I should have learned my lesson long ago. Well, there is nothing more to be said.” He moved toward the door. “If that is all, Captain—”
“Yes, that’s all. I’m sorry, Major.”
Durand bowed. “I’m sorry, too. No doubt I shall see you again. Goodbye.”
Near the door, as he went out, he passed the girl who called herself Grace Lane. She had been standing there drooping with fatigue; now she took a step nearer the desk. Her face was pale, her eyes dull with the strain of a long, hard day. “What are you going to do with me?” she asked.
“Wait a minute,” growled Flannery.
Miss Morrow rose, and placed a chair for the other woman. She was rewarded by a grateful look.
“I just remembered Beetham,” said Flannery. Again he scowled at Chan. “I’ve tipped off my hand to him—for nothing. I can thank you for that, too.”
“My guilty feeling grows by jumps and bounds,” sighed Charlie.
“It ought to,” the Captain replied. He went to the inner door and called loudly: “Pat!” Pat appeared at once, followed by the Colonel. For an instant Beetham stood staring curiously about the room.
“But where,” he remarked, “is the touching reunion? I don’t see Durand. No more do I see his wife.”
Flannery’s face grew even redder than usual. “There’s been a mistake,” he admitted.
“There have been a number of mistakes, I fancy,” said Beetham carelessly. “A dangerous habit, that of making mistakes, Captain. You should seek to overcome it.”
“When I want your advice, I’ll ask for it,” responded the harassed Flannery. “You can go along. But I still regard you as an important witness in this case, and I warn you not to strike out for any more deserts until I give you the word.”
“I shall remember what you say,” Beetham nodded, and went out.
“What are you going to do with me?” Grace Lane persisted.
“Well, I guess you’ve had a pretty rough deal,” Flannery said. “I apologize to you. You see, I got foolish and listened to a Chinaman, and that’s how I came to make a mistake about your identity. I brought you back on a charge of stealing a uniform, but probably Mr. Kirk won’t want to go ahead with that.”
“I should say not,” cried Barry Kirk. He turned to the woman. “I hope you won’t think it was my idea. You can have a bale of my uniforms, if you like.”
“You’re very kind,” she answered.
“Not at all. What is more, your old position is yours if you want it. You know, I’m eager to beautify the Kirk Building, and I lost ground when you left.”
She smiled, without replying. “I may go then?” she said, rising.
“Sure,” agreed Flannery. “Run along.”
Miss Morrow looked at her keenly. “Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. I—”
“I do,” said the deputy district attorney. “You’re going home with me. I’ve got an apartment—there’s loads of room. You shall stay with me for this one night, at least.”
“You—you are really too good to me,” replied Grace Lane, and her voice broke slightly.
“Nonsense. We’ve all been far too unkind to you. Come along.”
The two women went out. Flannery sank down behind his desk. “Now I’m going at this thing in my own way for a change,” he announced. “This has been an awful upset, but I had it coming to me. Listening to a Chinaman! If Grace Lane isn’t Eve Durand, who is? What do you say, Inspector Duff?”
“I might also warn you,” smiled Duff, “against the dangers of listening to an Englishman.”
“Oh, but you’re from Scotland Yard. I got respect for your opinion. Let’s see—Eve Durand is about somewhere—I’m sure of that. Sir Frederic was the kind of man who knows what he’s talking about. There’s that Lila Barr. She fits the description pretty well. There’s Gloria Garland. An assumed name—Australia—might be. There’s Eileen Enderby. Rust stains on her dress that night. But I didn’t see them. May have been there—probably not. Another guess on Sergeant Chan’s part, perhaps.”
“There is also,” added Charlie, “Mrs. Tupper-Brock. I offer the hint with reluctance.”
“And well you may,” sneered Flannery. “No—if you fancy Mrs. Tupper-Brock, then right there she’s out with me. Which of these women—I’ll have to start all over again.”
“I feel humble and contrite,” said Chan. “In spite of which, suggestions keep crowding to my tongue. Have you heard old Chinese saying, Captain—‘It is always darkest underneath the lamp’?”
“I’m fed up on Chinese sayings,” replied the Captain.
“The one I have named means what? That just above our heads the light is blazing. Such is the fact, Captain Flannery. Take my advice, and worry no more about Eve Durand.”
“Why not?” asked Flannery, in spite of himself.
“Because you are poised on extreme verge of the great triumph of your life. In a few hours at the most your head will be ringing with your own praises.”
“How’s that?”
“In a few hours you will arrest the murderer of Sir Frederic Bruce,” Chan told him calmly.
“Say—how do you get that way?” queried Flannery.
“There is one condition. It may be hard one for you,” Chan continued. “For your own sake, I beseech you to comply with same.”
“One condition? What’s that?”
“You must listen once more—and for the last time—to what you call a Chinaman.”
Flannery stirred uneasily. A hot denial rose to his lips, but something in the little man’s confident manner disturbed him.
“Listen to you again, eh? As though I’d do that.”
Inspector Duff stood up, and relighted his pipe. “If it is true that you respect my opinion, Captain—then, quoting our friend, I would make humble suggestion. Do as he asks.”
Flannery did not reply for a moment. “Well,” he said finally, “what have you got up your sleeve now? Another hunch?”
Chan shook his head. “A certainty. I am stupid man from small island, and I am
