the rest of the day. I'll fix everything in the morning.' He made her promise to keep quiet until to-morrow, and then he said good-bye."
Markham sat a while digesting the story.
"What impression did you get from the conversation?"
"If you ask me, Chief," said the detective, "I'd lay ten to one that Leacock's guilty and the girl knows it."
Markham thanked him and let him go.
"This sub-Potomac chivalry," commented Vance, "is a frightful nuisance. . . . But aren't we about due to hold polite converse with the genteel Leander?"
Almost as he spoke the man was announced. He entered the room with his habitual urbanity of manner, but for all his suavity, he could not wholly disguise his uneasiness of mind.
"Sit down, Mr. Pfyfe," directed Markham brusquely. "It seems you have a little more explaining to do."
Taking out the manilla envelope, he laid its contents on the desk where the other could see them.
"Will you be so good as to tell me about these?"
"With the greatest pleasure," said Pfyfe; but his voice had lost its assurance. Some of his poise, too, had deserted him, and as he paused to light a cigarette I detected a slight nervousness in the way he manipulated his gold match-safe.
"I really should have mentioned these before," he confessed, indicating the papers with a delicately inconsequential wave of the hand.
He leaned forward on one elbow, taking a confi-
