Barker’s last statement—­“Warren, he was a bird with the women!”—­was true.  Leverage knew it was true.  Carroll knew it was true.  There was the ring of truth about it.  It mattered not whether Barker had an iron of his own in the fire—­it mattered not what else he said which was not true—­the two detectives knew that they had extracted from him a fact, the relative importance of which would be established later.

Just at present, knowledge that the dead man had been somewhat of a philanderer seemed of considerable importance.  For one thing, it established the theory that he had been planning an elopement with the woman in the taxicab.  That being the case, a definite task was faced—­first, find the woman; then find some man vitally affected by her elopement with Warren.

Carroll betrayed no particular interest in Barker’s statement.  Instead, he smiled genially, a sort of between-us-men smile, which did much to disarm Barker.

“A regular devil with ’em, eh, Barker?”

“You spoke a mouthful that time, Mr. Carroll!  What he didn’t know about women their own husbands couldn’t tell him.”

“Married ones?”

“Oh, sure!  He was a specialist with them.”

“Then most of this gossip we’ve been hearing has a basis of fact?”

A momentary return of caution showed in Barker’s retort.

“I don’t know just what you’ve been hearin’.”

“A good many stories about his love affairs—­with women who were prominent socially.”

Barker shrugged.

“Most likely they’re true; although it’s a safe bet that a heap of ’em was lies.  Men folks have a way of lyin’ about women that way, even where they’ll tell the truth about everything else.  They’ve got women beaten ninety-seven ways gossiping about that sort of thing.”

“You know a thing or two yourself, Barker?”

The man flushed with pleasure.

“Oh, I ain’t nobody’s pet jackass, when it comes to that!”

“Now you”—­Carroll’s tone was gentle, almost hypnotic—­“of course you know who the woman is that Mr. Warren was planning to elope with?”

“I know—­”

Suddenly Barker paused, and his face went white.  He compressed his lips with an effort and choked back the words.  Leverage, leaning forward in tense eagerness—­knowing the verbal trap that Carroll had been planting—­sighed with disappointment, and relaxed.

“Say, what the hell are you driving at!”

“Nothing.”  One would have sworn that Carroll was surprised at Barker’s flare of anger—­or else that it had passed unnoticed.  “I just figured that you, having been his valet, and knowing a good deal about him, would have knowledge of this.”

“He wasn’t in the habit of discussin’ his lady friends with me,” growled the ex-valet surlily.

“Of course he wasn’t; but you know, of course?  You guessed?”

“No, I didn’t do nothin’ of the kind.  Say, what are you tryin’ to do—­trip me up or somethin’?”