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your keen brain will function where mine wanders lonely in the dark.”

He began at the beginning: his visit to the theater, Robert Fyfe’s cast-iron alibi, his admission that he had given the beach-comber money in exchange for a painting. He mentioned his call at the library and his discovery there of Huntley Van Horn, then went on to the two old people on the terrace of the hotel, who had accounted so readily for Tarneverro’s actions on the previous night.

“They may be lying,” said the Chief.

Charlie shook his head. “You would not say that if you saw them. Honesty gleams like unceasing beacon from their eyes.”

“I'll judge of that for myself, ”remarked his superior. “What was their name? MacMaster? I’ll talk with them later. Go on.”

Charlie continued. He told of finding the stub of the small cigar of a sort smoked only by Alan Jaynes, beneath the pavilion window.

“Oh, lord,” sighed the Chief. “They can’t all be in it. Somebody’s kidding you, Charlie.”

“You go back to singular pronoun,” smiled Chan. “A moment ago it was we. But that was only in regard to approaching moment of success, I think.”

“Well, somebody’s kidding us, then. Have it your own way. You got Jaynes’ finger-prints?”

“I slyly obtained same. But it was print of Smith, the beach-comber, we discover on window-sill.”

“Yes—that was something we can really act on. I sent out the word to pick him up right away. They'll bring him in any minute now. What have you been doing since then?”