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188 "No. He said all the other things in it were rusty from disuse. Your secondary-minded murderer must have cleaned these carefully with oil to remove his own finger-prints before putting them with the others."

Odell shook his head.

"I don't get it," he admitted. "The combination of foresight and ingenuity together with rank carelessness in detail stumps me. It must be that there are two of them working together, or rather one carrying out the instructions of another and doing it in a bungling fashion. The method of work suggests two distinct personalities, and yet I cannot point to even one possible suspect now."

As the chief opened his lips to reply the telephone rang and he took up the receiver.

"Windermere? Sheriff Higgins speaking? … This is Police Headquarters, New York. … Yes, Captain Lewis, Homicide Bureau. Get out as quick as you can to a boat-house on the shore of the Sound about a mile and a half from your village. … No, I can't tell you on whose place it is, but there's a canoe stored there with the name 'Midinette' painted on it. You'll find a dead man sitting in a chair, and another sleeping off a jag. Hold him for me on a charge of—What's that? … What? … Nothing left? … No trace of the bodies? … You're sure it's the right place? … Yes, 'Midinette.' … The Osgood Praye estate. … Thanks, Sheriff. My men are on the way out to you now, and I will appreciate it if you will give them all particulars."

He hung up the receiver slowly and turned to Odell.

"That boathouse burned down to the concrete piles last night an hour after you and Miller made your escape," he