“Well,” Barry began, reluctantly, “who first heard of this murder?”
“Doctor Davenport,” said Monroe, quickly. “His nurse telephoned from the office——”
“Did the nurse tell you that?” Barry shot at him.
“Why, no, of course not. I haven’t seen the nurse.”
“Has anybody?”
“I don’t know. I suppose the police have.”
“You suppose! Well, they haven’t. I found that out. No, the police have not thought it worth while to check up Doctor Davenport’s story of his nurse’s message to him. They take it as he told it. It was nine chances out of ten they would do so. I say, fellows, don’t you remember that conversation we had about murder that afternoon—last Tuesday afternoon?”
“I do,” answered Pollard. “It was then that I made my famous speech.”
“Yes; and that was remembered because it was unconventional and damn-foolishness besides. But Doctor Davenport’s speeches, though of far greater importance, are all forgotten.”
“I haven’t forgotten them,” said Pollard, thoughtfully. “He said the detection of crime depended largely on chance.”