“I haven’t any too much faith in Moore’s protestations,” Corson confided to Gibbs. “He’s crazy to be a detective, but he’s afraid he’ll catch his own girl in his net. That’s the truth in a nutshell. I do think, though, he’d be good help to us, for he knows all about this house and its occupants, and I can’t help thinking the murderers belong here.”
“I don’t think so,” returned Gibbs. “I’m sure they are rank outsiders. They were with him during those missing two hours and they followed him home, hoping to get what they were after,—black-mail, most likely, and then at the last minute opportunity presented itself and they killed him.”
“Must have been prepared for it, as they had a weapon, used it deftly, and carried it off.”
“They did that, and there’s an important clew. None of those little chorus babes could have stabbed with that deft touch, which the doctor vows shows skilled medical or surgical knowledge.”
“Maybe, and maybe it was a chance blow. Well, I’m going off on a new tack. I’m going up to see the dead man’s people and get, if I can, some new angle on the case.”
Corson went up to the Prall apartment and found the members of that household in a high state of excitement.
Miss Letitia Prall paused in what was evidently an angry harangue and somewhat grudgingly accorded a greeting to the caller.
“Must you have an interview just now, Mr Corson?” she asked, acidly. “I’m sure you know all we can tell you.”
“I’m not sure of that, Miss Prall. There are, I think, some points yet to be cleared up.”
“The whole case is yet to be cleared up. I can’t see that you detectives have solved any part of the puzzle.”