This time Mathison heard with comprehension. He paused, struck by a singularly bizarre thought. Malachi! Supposing that was it? Supposing Hallowell had called out to Malachi the name of the man? A chance shot in the dark that the bird might remember and repeat it?
This trend of cogitation was interrupted by a furious ringing of the gate bell.
The visitor proved to be Morgan of the Intelligence. He was out of breath from running.
"Anything wrong in these diggings?"
"Hallowell is dead," said Mathison, gravely.
"The devil! Murdered?"
"Yes."
"I knew it! I felt it in my bones. Always something on this order when she passes. And like a yokel, I let her slip through my fingers!... Hell!"
"No woman did this."