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take it out and leave it where he could find it without himself signing a slip. Have you thought of that?”

“So much to think of,” Chan sighed. “Thank you for the idea.” He went back to the desk. “Mr. Van Horn left the volume in original state. He is certain of that. Was it noted that any one else examined it this morning?”

“I don’t know,” the young woman replied. “The librarian in charge of that room is out to lunch. Look here, Mr. Chan, you’ve got to find who did this.”

“Plenty busy with murder just now,” Charlie explained.

“Never mind your murder,” she answered grimly. “This is serious.”

Chan smiled, but the young woman was in no mood to join him. He promised to do his best and departed.

A glance at his watch told him that he had no time for his usual leisurely lunch. He had instead a sandwich and a glass of milk, then went to the station. The Chief was pacing the floor of the detectives’ room.

“Hello, Charlie,” he cried. “I’ve been wondering where you were. Pretty busy this morning, I take it?”

“Like fly on hot griddle,” Chan answered, “And just as eager to get off.”

“Haven't got anything yet, eh?”

“Have so much I am worn out,” Charlie told him. “But no idea who killed Shelah Fane.”

“That’s what we want,” the Chief insisted. “The name—the name. Good lord, we ought to get somewhere pretty soon.”

“Maybe we will,” replied Chan, with just the slightest inflection on the “we.” He sat down. “Now I will relate morning’s adventures, and it can happen that