“Yes—­on Mrs. Lawrence.  You see, it’s this way:  according to Barker’s own story he knew everything which transpired at the station.  If we believe what he told us, and if he is correct in his belief that Mrs. Lawrence did the killing, then we know he is the only person who—­until now—­had any knowledge of the identity of the woman in the taxicab.  That being the case, and Barker being obviously not a high type of man, it is certainly not unreasonable to presume that he was capitalizing his information.”

“Seems plausible,” grunted Leverage.  “But where does it get us?”

“Just this far,” explained Carroll.  “Unless Barker was applying for a position at the Lawrences—­where they not only do not employ a male servant, but have never employed one—­he was not seeking employment anywhere.  He has been taking life pretty easy, all of which is indicative of a supply of money from outside.  And I fancy that Mrs. Lawrence would pay a pretty fancy price to have her name left out of this rotten scandal.”

Leverage held Carroll with his eyes:  “Do you believe Barker’s story, David?”

“Believe it?  Why, yes.  Most of it anyway.”

“You believe Mrs. Lawrence was the woman in the taxicab?”

“I’ve got to believe it.”

“Do you believe she killed him?”

“Evidence points to that answer, Leverage.  You see, Barker’s story impressed me this way:  it is the only sane, logical solution of the killing which has yet been advanced.  Neither of us has ever yet hit upon an answer to the puzzle of the body in the taxicab.  What Barker tells us is perfectly plausible—­” Carroll paused—­

“You see,” he continued, “from the first I have maintained that Mrs. Lawrence is a decent woman—­innately decent.  I will even admit that her domestic life was so miserably unbearable that she would entertain the idea of eloping with Warren:  that she went so far as to attempt to carry that idea into execution.  But I am also ready—­and eager, too, if you will, to believe that when she reached the stepping off place she must have reneged.  That woman couldn’t have done anything else.

“We are fairly well satisfied—­from Barker’s own story—­that there had been nothing wrong in the relations between Warren and Mrs. Lawrence up to that night.  But we are pretty sure that they met at the station to go away together.  What is more reasonable than to presume that she lost her nerve at the eleventh hour:  that, unhappy as she was at home, she was unable to take the step which would forever make her a social outcast?

“Very well.  If that is true, we have them at the station at midnight.  The weather is the worst of the year.  They are standing in the dark passageway between the main waiting room and the baggage room.  No light is on the corner of Jackson street.  They see only one taxicab on duty.  For all they know—­the last street car has passed.  They conceive the idea of making a single taxicab do double duty—­and, knowing that the driver is across the street drinking coffee and getting warm—­Warren gets into the cab from the blind side, Mrs. Lawrence returns to the waiting room as the accommodation rolls in, she picks up Warren’s suit-case which had been left there, steps to the curb and summons the cab, in which Warren is hiding all the time.  Sounds all right so far?”