"How about this case, chief?"
"How about it?"
"You want me to butt in on it?"
"Want you? Holy sufferin' oysters! Carroll, if you didn't work on it, I'd brain you! You're the only man in the State who could—"
"Soft-pedal the blarney," grinned Carroll. "And now—the suit-case again."
He dropped to his knees and opened the suit-case. Garment by garment he emptied it, searching for some clue, some damning bit of evidence, which might explain the woman's possession of the dead man's belongings. He found nothing. It was evident that the grip had been carefully packed for a journey of several days at least; but it was a man's suit-case, and its contents were exclusively masculine.
Carroll shrugged as he rose to his feet. He turned toward Spike Walters and laid a gentle hand on the young man's shoulder.
"Walters," he said, "I want to let you know that I believe your story all the way through. I think that Chief Leverage does, too—how about it, chief?"
"Sounds all right to me."
"But we've got to hold you for a while, my lad. It's tough, but you were the person found with the body, and we've naturally got to keep you in custody. Understand?"