"No. Have you?"
"None whatever; though I fancy something ought to develop in the near future. The city is discussing it pretty freely?"
"The town's wild about it. They don't understand anything. It's tough on my sister. Hazel is only a kid, and I think she was in love with Warren. Well, good day, Carroll." He extended a firm hand. "Any time I can be of any help—"
"Thanks, Gresham."
Five minutes after Gresham's departure, Carroll was in his car, headed for the police-station. He turned the case over and over in a keen, analytic mind which had been refreshed by a night of untroubled sleep.
There were a good many features about it which puzzled him considerably. While he had not expected that the trail of the mysterious midnight woman would lead to the fiancée of the dead man, the sudden dissipation of that as a clue rather threw him off his balance. He had reached the end of a trail almost before setting foot upon it.
Thus far he had refused to allow himself to be worried by the strangest feature of the case—the appearance of the dead body in a taxicab which, according to its driver's story, could not have been other than empty. It was always easy to explain the disappearance of a person from an automobile; but, he figured, it was patently impossible to enter one without the driver's knowledge.
He reached headquarters and closeted himself with Leverage. They plunged at once into a discussion of that phase of the case.
"There are only two things which could have happened," said the chief of police slowly. "One is that some one croaked that bird Warren and shoved him into the cab while the woman was ridin' in it. The other is that he slipped into the cab and she killed him. While I ain't jumpin' on no set ideas, I have a hunch that the last one is right."
"Why?"