“Well, anyway—­Carroll:  you knew!  And that takes the edge off what I told you.”

“Not at all,” returned Carroll seriously.  “For while what I discovered is perhaps valuable—­that combined with the fact that Barker has been there once before:  and that on his first visit when Lawrence was probably at home he stayed nearly five times as long as he did when we know that Lawrence was not there—­that is of help—­or ought to be.”

“What do you think of it?”

Carroll hesitated.  “I don’t know what to think, Eric.  I’m afraid I’m thinking about it more than I have any right.  We’ve been so long without anything to work on, that we’re liable to let this bit of information throw us off our balance.  But of course we’ll look more deeply into it.”

“How?”

Again Carroll chuckled.  “Our little friend, Miss Rogers, is suffering from a large case of hero-worship.  I’m it!  And so—­when I saw Barker leaving her home—­I immediately made an engagement to call upon her to-morrow night!”

“You call on that kid—­” Suddenly Leverage lay back in his swivel chair and gave vent to a peal of raucous laughter.  He banged his fist on the arm of the chair:  “Oh! Boy!  That’s the snappiest yet.  David Carroll paying a social call on a seventeen-year-old kid!  Mama!  Ain’t that the richest—­”

Carroll made a wry face.  “Needn’t rub it in.  It’s bad enough anyway.  And”—­growing serious—­“I’m hoping to meet Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence.  They ought to prove interesting.”

But Leverage could not tear himself away from the sheer humor of the situation:  “What the devil you and her going to talk about?  Foxtrot steps?  Is the camel walk vulgar?  Frat dance?  Next week’s basketball game?  Sa-a-ay!  David—­I’d give my chances of Heaven to be hidden behind the door.”

“So would I,” said Carroll wryly.

“Above all things,” counseled Leverage with mock severity:  “Don’t you go making love to her.”

Carroll reached a muscular hand across the table.  His sinewy fingers closed around a glass paperweight.  He held this poised steadily.  “One more crack out of you, Eric, and I’ll slam this against your head.  You’re a pretty good chief of police—­but you’re a rotten humorist.”

“Just the same,” grinned the chief, “I can see that this joke is on you!  And now—­what?”

“For one thing,” and Carroll’s manner was all business again, “I want every bit of dope I can get on Gerald Lawrence and his wife.  I know that Warren was very intimate at the house:  friendly with both wife and husband, according to what Miss Rogers says.  That connects them up.  What I want to find out now is where both of ’em were the night Warren was killed.  Put a couple of your best men out to gather this dope—­there isn’t any of it too minor to interest me.  Meanwhile, I’ll pump the kid.  I have a hunch that this isn’t going to be a cold trail.”

“It better not be—­or Mr. David Carroll is going to find himself with one unsolved case on his hands.  Yes, sir—­if this is a blind lead, we’re up against it for fair.”