“Miss Gresham!”

Hazel Gresham nodded.  She advanced toward Carroll.  Every drop of color had been drained from her cheeks.  Her manner indicated intense nervous strain.  Her eyes were wide and fixed—­

“I would like to speak to you alone, Mr. Carroll.”

“Yes—­This is Chief Leverage, Miss Gresham.”

Leverage acknowledged the introduction and would have left but the girl stopped him.  “On second thought, Mr. Leverage—­you might remain.”

Eric paused.  His eyes sought Carroll’s face.  Both men knew that something vitally unexpected was about to be disclosed.  They waited for the girl to speak—­and when she did her voice was so low as to be almost unintelligible.

“About a half hour ago, gentlemen—­I read the story in The Star.  I—­I—­” she faltered for a moment, then went bravely on—­“I came right down—­to save you the trouble of sending for me!”

Silence:  tense—­expectant.  “You did what?" queried Carroll.

“I came down—­to save you the trouble—­the embarrassment—­of sending for me.”  She looked at them eagerly.  “I have come to give myself up!”

Carroll frowned.  “For what?”

“For—­for the murder of—­Roland Warren!”

The detective shook his head.  “I don’t understand, Miss Gresham.  Really I don’t.  Do you mean to tell me that you were the woman in the taxicab?”

She was biting her lips nervously.  “Yes.”

“And that you shot Roland Warren?”

“Y-yes—­And when I read in the paper that you knew who did it—­I came right down here.  I didn’t want to—­to—­to be brought down—­in a patrol wagon.”

“I see—­” Wild thoughts were chasing one another through Carroll’s brain.  He was beginning to see light.  “You are quite sure that you killed Mr. Warren?”

“Yes, I’m sure.  Why do you doubt me?  Don’t you suppose that I know whether I killed him?  Don’t you suppose I can prove that I did it—­”

“Yes—­I suppose you can.  I wonder, Miss Gresham,” and Carroll’s voice was very, very gentle, “if you would wait in that room yonder for a few minutes?”

“Certainly—­” She raised her head pleadingly:  “You do believe me, don’t you?”

Carroll dodged the issue.  “I want to think.”

Alone with Leverage, Carroll clenched his fist—­“If that isn’t the most peculiar—­”

“She’s not telling the truth, is she, David?”

“Certainly not.  She couldn’t smash her own alibi if she tried a million years.”

He paced the room, walking in quick, jerky steps.  Finally his face cleared and he stopped before Leverage’s chair.

“I’ve got it!” he announced triumphantly.

“Got what?”

“Never mind,” Carroll was surcharged with suppressed excitement.  “I want you to do something for me, Leverage—­and do it promptly.”

“Sure—­”

“Send Cartwright and bring Garry Gresham here.”