Carroll smiled. "I'm sure he had nothing whatever to do with the murder."

"Good Lord! I didn't think he had. But still he may have been a friend, and--"

"That man was all right. I know that."

"You _know_?" Leverage was incredulous.

"Yes." Carroll grinned. "I was the man!"

"You--? Holy sufferin' mackerel! Sa-a-ay! Was that chicken I seen you with downtown, Lawrence's sister-in-law?"

"Yes. Miss Evelyn Rogers. And Good Lord! Leverage, how that girl can talk! She holds all records for conversational distance and speed. She talked me dumb."

Leverage was staring respectfully at Carroll. "If you were the man who was with her, David--you must have seen Barker when he left the house."

"I did."

The face of the chief showed his disappointment: "That's what I get for thinking I had a real surprise up my sleeve. You sit back with that innocent kid face of yours and let me spill all the dope--and then tell me perfectly matter-of-factly that you knew it all the time. How'd you ever get wise to the thing, anyway?"

Carroll was honest. "No thanks to my sagacity, Leverage. One of those pieces of bull luck which I have always contended play an enormous part in solving crime. In the first place Evelyn Rogers came to me the day after Warren was killed to a.s.sure me that Miss Gresham had a perfect alibi. This afternoon she la.s.soed me and dragged me into an ice cream place because she wanted to prove to some of her school companions that we were really friends." Carroll chuckled. "I quaffed freely from the fountain of youth--and enjoyed it awhile. Then I got bored stiff. Took her to the movies--she invited me--and did it only because I've pa.s.sed beyond the years of adolescence and didn't know how to crawfish out of it. After which--because it seemed the proper thing to do--I volunteered to ride her home in my car. And it was then that I saw Barker leaving the Lawrence home. So you see, Leverage, my knowledge is the result of pure accident--and not at all the fruit of keen perception."

"Well, anyway--Carroll: you knew! And that takes the edge off what I told you."

"Not at all," returned Carroll seriously. "For while what I discovered is perhaps valuable--that combined with the fact that Barker has been there once before: and that on his first visit when Lawrence was probably at home he stayed nearly five times as long as he did when we know that Lawrence was not there--that is of help--or ought to be."

"What do you think of it?"

Carroll hesitated. "I don't know what to think, Eric. I'm afraid I'm thinking about it more than I have any right. We've been so long without anything to work on, that we're liable to let this bit of information throw us off our balance. But of course we'll look more deeply into it."

"How?"

Again Carroll chuckled. "Our little friend, Miss Rogers, is suffering from a large case of hero-worship. I'm it! And so--when I saw Barker leaving her home--I immediately made an engagement to call upon her to-morrow night!"

"_You_ call on that kid--" Suddenly Leverage lay back in his swivel chair and gave vent to a peal of raucous laughter. He banged his fist on the arm of the chair: "Oh! _Boy_! That's the snappiest yet. David Carroll paying a social call on a seventeen-year-old kid! Mama! Ain't that the richest--"

Carroll made a wry face. "Needn't rub it in. It's bad enough anyway.

And"--growing serious--"I'm hoping to meet Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence. They ought to prove interesting."

But Leverage could not tear himself away from the sheer humor of the situation: "What the devil you and her going to talk about? Foxtrot steps? Is the camel walk vulgar? Frat dance? Next week's basketball game? Sa-a-ay! David--I'd give my chances of Heaven to be hidden behind the door."

"So would I," said Carroll wryly.

"Above all things," counseled Leverage with mock severity: "Don't you go making love to her."

Carroll reached a muscular hand across the table. His sinewy fingers closed around a gla.s.s paperweight. He held this poised steadily. "One more crack out of you, Eric, and I'll slam this against your head. You're a pretty good chief of police--but you're a rotten humorist."

"Just the same," grinned the chief, "I can see that this joke is on you!

And now--what?"

"For one thing," and Carroll's manner was all business again, "I want every bit of dope I can get on Gerald Lawrence and his wife. I know that Warren was very intimate at the house: friendly with both wife and husband, according to what Miss Rogers says. That connects them up. What I want to find out now is where both of 'em were the night Warren was killed. Put a couple of your best men out to gather this dope--there isn't any of it too minor to interest me. Meanwhile, I'll pump the kid. I have a hunch that this isn't going to be a cold trail."

"It better not be--or Mr. David Carroll is going to find himself with one unsolved case on his hands. Yes, sir--if this is a blind lead, we're up against it for fair."

"It isn't going to be entirely blind," postulated Carroll. "Barker a.s.sures us of that!"

CHAPTER XII

A CHALLENGE

At four o'clock the following afternoon Carroll received from Chief Leverage a detailed report on Gerald Lawrence:

"He's a manufacturer," said Leverage. "President of the Capitol City Woolen Mills. Rated about a hundred thousand--maybe a little more. He's on the Board of Directors of the Second National. Has the reputation of being hard, fearless--and considerable of a grouch. Age forty-two.

"Married Naomi Rogers about five years ago. She was twenty-five then--thirty now. Supposed to be beautiful--and would be a society light except that Lawrence doesn't care for the soup-and-fish stuff. Report has it that they're not very happy together. His parents and hers all dead.

Evelyn, her kid sister, lives with them.

"They employ a cook and two maids. No man-servant at all. Roland Warren was pretty intimate at the house, but so far as I can discover there was no scandal linking the names of Warren and Mrs. Lawrence. Of course, him knowing her pretty intimately and being friendly at the house, you could probably find a good many folks who would say nasty things. But there hasn't been the real gossip about her and him that there was about a heap of other women in this town.

"Warren and Lawrence were pretty good friends. Warren was a stockholder in the woolen mills. On the other hand it seems as though Warren was at the house a good deal more than just ordinary friendship would have indicated. But that's just an idea. And there's your dope--"

"And on the night of the murder?" questioned Carroll. "Where were they?"

"Mrs. Lawrence was at home. Lawrence--if you're thinking of him in connection with it--seems to have an iron-clad alibi. He went to Nashville on a business trip and didn't get back until the following morning."

"Alibi, eh?" Carroll's eyes narrowed speculatively, "are you _sure_ he was in Nashville all that time?"

"Hm-m!" Leverage shook his head. "I don't know--but I can find out."

Carroll rose. "Do it please. And get the dope straight."

Carroll went to his apartment where he reluctantly commenced dressing for the ordeal of the night. He felt himself rather ridiculous--a man of his age calling on a girl not yet out of high school. The thing was funny--of course--but just at the moment the joke was too entirely on him for the full measure of amus.e.m.e.nt.

At that, he dressed carefully, selecting a new gray suit, a white jersey-silk shirt and a blue necktie for the occasion. At six-thirty Freda served his dinner and at fifteen minutes after eight o'clock he rang the bell of the Lawrence home.

The door was opened by Evelyn: palpitant with excitement, and garbed attractively in the demi-toilette of very-young-ladyhood.

"Mr. Carroll--so good of you to come. I'm simply tickled to death. Let me have your hat and coat. Come right into the living room--I want you to meet my brother-in-law and my sister--"

Sheepishly, Carroll followed the girl into the room. Mr. and Mrs.

Lawrence rose politely to greet him.

At the sight of the man he had really come to see, Carroll was conscious of an instinctive dislike. Lawrence was of medium height, slightly stooped and not unpleasing to the eye. But his brows were inclined to lower and the eyes themselves were set too closely together. He was dressed plainly--almost harshly, and he stared at Carroll in a manner bordering on the hostile.

The detective acknowledged the introduction and then turned his gaze upon the woman of the family. There he met with a surprise as pleasant as his first glance at Lawrence had been unpleasant.