"Well," sizzled the chief of police, "if he didn't and Barker didn't—who the devil did?"
Carroll shook his head hopelessly. "I don't know, Eric. If neither of those two men did, we'll be left hopelessly in the air."
"Exactly. We know that one of 'em did the shooting. We've covered this case from every angle, and if we believe that the shooting was not done by Mrs. Lawrence, we must suspect one of the two men involved. And if you are sure it wasn't Barker—"
"Let's wait a little while longer," counseled Carroll. "I want to be absolutely sure of my ground."
The two men sat in Leverage's office and talked. They discussed the case again from the beginning to its present status—threshing out each detail in the hope that they might have overlooked some vital fact which would give them a basis upon which to proceed. Their efforts were fruitless. The investigation had developed results—true enough—but those results were not at all satisfactory.
And it was about an hour later that a knock came on the door. In response to Leverage's summons, an orderly entered. In his hand he carried an evening paper—
"Just brought this in, sir. Thought you and Mr. Carroll might like to read it."
The orderly retired. Carroll spread the paper—then did something very rare. He swore profoundly. His eyes focused angrily on the enormous first page headlines:
"CARROLL HAS SOLVED WARREN MYSTERY
"Identity of Clubman's Slayer Known to Famous Detective