"My name is Raymond, and I wish to see him."
He gave me one glance that took in every detail of my person and apparel, and pointed to a door at the head of the stairs. Not waiting for further directions, I hastened up, knocked at the door he had designated, and went in. The broad back of Mr. Gryce, stooping above a desk that might have come over in the Mayflower, confronted me.
"Well!" he exclaimed; "this is an honor." And rising, he opened with a squeak and shut with a bang the door of an enormous stove that occupied the centre of the room. "Rather chilly day, eh?"
"Yes," I returned, eyeing him closely to see if he was in a communicative mood. "But I have had but little time to consider the state of the weather. My anxiety in regard to this murder"
"To be sure," he interrupted, fixing his eyes upon the poker, though not with any hostile intention, I am sure. "A puzzling piece of business enough. But perhaps it is an open book to you. I see you have something to communicate."
"I have, though I doubt if it is of the nature you expect. Mr. Gryce, since I saw you last, my convictions upon a certain point have been strengthened into an absolute belief. The object of your suspicions is an innocent woman."
If I had expected him to betray any surprise at this, I was destined to be disappointed. "That is a very pleasing belief," he observed. "I honor you for entertaining it, Mr. Raymond."
I suppressed a movement of anger. "So thoroughly is it mine," I went on, in the determination to arouse him in some way, "that I have come here to-day to ask you in the name of justice and common
