didn't have any use for them. He didn't want them, in fact—they worried him abominably."
The point was too complex for Heath. The previous day's developments had shaken the foundation of all his arguments; and he lapsed again into brooding silence.
At ten o'clock he rose impatiently and, going to the hall door, looked out. Returning, he compared his watch with the office clock and began pacing restlessly. Markham was attempting to sort some papers on his desk, but presently he pushed them aside with an impatient gesture.
"He ought to be coming along now," he remarked, with an effort at cheerfulness.
"He'll come," growled Heath, "or he'll get a free ride." And he continued his pacing.
A few minutes later he turned abruptly and went out into the hall. We could hear him calling to Snitkin down the elevator shaft, but when he came back into the office his expression told us that as yet there was no news of Skeel.
"I'll call up the Bureau," he decided, "and see what Guilfoyle had to report. At least we'll know then when the Dude left his house."
But when the Sergeant had been connected with Police Headquarters he was informed that Guilfoyle had as yet made no report.
"That's damn funny," he commented, hanging up the receiver.
It was now twenty minutes past ten. Markham was growing restive. The tenacity with which the Canary murder case had resisted all his efforts toward a solution had filled him with discouragement; and
