said roughly, losing confidence again in spite of Crowley; "or you would understand that he is the last man among us who could be suspected. Enoch is a regular hermit—what they call a 'recluse'! Only once a year are we able to get him to tear himself away from his musty old house and his collections of coins, and then only for old sake's sake, to go to the north woods with us. Your crazy test with the steins has led you a long way off the track if you think it's Findlay."
"It has led me inevitably to the conclusion that, if it was one of you four men, it was either Findlay or yourself, Mr. Sheppard," Trant asserted firmly. "You yourself know best whether it is necessary to test him."
Sheppard stared at the obstinate young psychologist for a full minute. "At least," he said finally with the same roughness, "we can keep young Jim still in custody." He looked at the police officer, who nodded. Then he went to the house telephone on the wall, spoke shortly into it, and turned:
"I'll take you to Findlay, Trant. I've called the motor."
Five minutes later the little party in the trophy-room broke up—Tyler, under the watch of Captain Crowley, going to the police station, but as yet without charge against him; Chapin going about his own business; Trant and his client speeding swiftly down the boulevard in the big motor.
"You want to stop at your office, I suppose," Sheppard asked, "for you haven't brought the steins you used in your test with us?"
