“It is.”

“And if he knows anything he hasn’t told, the odds are on him to know a whale of a sight more.  And if he knows a whole heap—­then the chances are he knows enough to justify us in keeping him in jail.”

“You’re right, Leverage.  If Spike is innocent he’s not undergoing any enormous hardship.  But if his story is untrue in any particular—­then it is probably entirely false.  And since we cannot understand how that body got into the cab or where the murderer went—­we’ve got to hold on to Spike.  Meanwhile, we both believe him.”

“You said it, David.  Now, next on the list we have Barker.  What about him?”

“I don’t like Barker particularly,” said Carroll frankly.  “He hasn’t what you would call an engaging personality.  Not only that, but we are agreed that he knows a great deal about the case which he hasn’t told—­and doesn’t intend to tell unless we force him to it.  But we’ll go back to him later:  he’s too important a link in the chain to pass over casually when we’re trying to hit on a definite course of action.  Remembering, of course, that his visits to the Lawrence home have a certain degree of significance.”

Leverage chuckled grimly.  “You’re coming around to my way of thinking, David Carroll.  Remember, I wanted to stick that bird behind the bars the first day we talked to him—­when we first knew he was lying to us.”

“Yes—­but we wouldn’t have gained anything—­then.  Perhaps now the time is ripe to try some of that third degree stuff.  But let’s take up the others.  My little friend, Miss Evelyn Rogers, for instance.”

Leverage chuckled.  “Go to it, David.  You know more about that kid than I ever will—­or want to.  Ain’t suspecting her of being the woman in the taxi, are you?”

“Good Lord! no!  She hasn’t that much on her mind.  And if we manage to solve this case, we can thank her.  That little tongue of hers wags at both ends—­and out of the welter of words that drip from her lips—­I’ve managed to extract more information than from every other source we’ve tapped.  I’ve been awfully lucky there—­”

“Don’t talk like a simp, David—­’tain’t luck.  That’s your way of working.  And because there isn’t anything flashy about it—­you call it luck.  Why, you poor fish—­there isn’t any other man in the country who’d have had the common sense to do what you did—­to know that it would be a sensible move.”

“Some day, Eric,” grinned Carroll, “I’m going to throw you down—­I’m going to flunk on a case.  And then you’ll say to my face what you must often have thought—­that I’m a lucky, old-maidish detective.”

“G’wan wid ye!  Fishing for compliments—­that’s what you are.”

Carroll grew serious again.  “I think we’re safe in eliminating Evelyn Rogers from our calculations except as a gold mine of information.  Which takes us to her friend—­Hazel Gresham.”

“And Garry Gresham.  You say he didn’t want you to discuss the case with his sister.”