“I see.”  Carroll rose.  “I want you to understand, Mrs. Lawrence, that you have helped me tremendously.  And to know, also, that I shall probably succeed in keeping your name out of any disclosures which might have to be made to the public.”

“But if my husband did it—­”

“In that event, it will be impossible not to tell.”

“And if he didn’t do it?”

“Then you will be safe.  But,” finished the detective seriously, “if your husband didn’t do it—­I don’t know who did.  I have followed every possible trail and unless guilt can be fastened on either your husband or Barker, there isn’t the faintest shadow of suspicion attached to anyone else.  It will make things very difficult—­for me.”

During his ride to headquarters Carroll was busy with his thoughts.  He was worried about the possible complicity of Gerald Lawrence in the shooting of Warren.  He was more than halfway convinced that Lawrence knew a good deal about it—­and the obvious method was to order Lawrence’s arrest and make him prove an alibi.  But such a procedure was impossible in view of his determination to protect Naomi’s name to the ultimate moment.

He was greeted at headquarters by a reporter for one of the two evening papers.  The reporter was eager for an interview.  There had been an appalling dearth of local news, and the Warren story had been long since played beyond the point of public interest.  The readers, explained the reporter, were growing tired of theories and column after column of conjecture.  They wanted a few facts.

Carroll shook his head.  “Nothing definite to give out yet.”

The reporter was persistent.  “You have made no new discoveries at all?”

“Well—­I’d hardly say that.”

“Then you have?”

“Yes,” answered Carroll frankly, “I have.”

“You think you know who killed Warren?”

Carroll, his mind still busy with Naomi’s story, answered casually.  “I believe I do.  That is just a belief, mind you.  But there is an outside chance that there will be important developments within the next twenty-four hours.”

“Something definite, eh?”

“If anything at all happens, it will be definite.”

Then Carroll excused himself and sought Eric Leverage.  Under pledge of secrecy he told Leverage the entire story as he had heard it from Naomi Lawrence’s lips.  When he finished Leverage slammed his hand on the arm of his chair—­

“Gerald Lawrence, or I’m a bum guesser,” he stated positively.

“Looks that way,” admitted Carroll.  “What I hate about the idea is that if Lawrence is the man there will be no way on earth to keep Mrs. Lawrence’s name out of it.”

“You’re right—­How about Barker?”

“I believe Barker’s story.  So does Mrs. Lawrence.  She believes that Barker thinks she killed Warren in the taxi.”

Leverage glanced keenly at his friend.  “You are going to arrest Lawrence?”