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doubtful—there are none now.”
    He gave the weapon a quick inspection and put it into his coat pocket; then turned as someone knocked at the door. His assistant opened it and a man came in with a doctor’s bag, followed by two men with a rolled-up stretcher.
    The doctor said: “Hola, Ramon,” and went immediately to the body. He applied his stethoscope, pulled out the shirt, and checked the small bluish hole in the chest, making an occasional comment as he worked and pointing now to the blackish smudge on the coat front. When he spoke to the men with the stretcher, Jeff turned to face the window, pulling the curtain back from the open section. Karen Holmes was already looking out into the night and he stood above her, seeing the lighted pool and terrace, the winding street beyond the hotel grounds that curved upward into the near-by hills. He stood that way, trying not to think, but conscious of the hardness in his throat, until he heard the door close.
    Almost immediately there was another knock and as he glanced round he saw Zumeta talking to three plainclothes-men in the hall. When they went away Zumeta came back to resume his questioning.
    “Perhaps you could tell me in what way Mr. Baker was working for you?”
    “He had been trying to locate my stepbrother.”
    “His name, please.”
    “He was known here as Arnold Grayson.”
    “Ah—yes. I know of him. And was that not his right name?”
    “That was the name he was born with. When his mother married my father he took the name of Lane.”
    “And how long had he been missing?”
    “I hadn’t seen him in four years.”
    “What made it important that you find him?”
    “My father died two months ago,” Jeff said. “He left some shares in our company to Arnold provided he could be located and came back to claim them within three months. I promised to find him if I could.”
    He took Baker’s cable from his pocket and waited for Zumeta to read it. Zumeta returned it and considered the girl.
    “You were to have drinks and dinner with Mr. Baker,” he said. “You knew him well?”
    “Well—no. I’d met him in Boston and my father knew him.”
    “But you’re not here just as a tourist.”
    Karen hesitated, but not for long. “No, I came to see Arnold Grayson too.” She opened her bag and produced the leather folder and for once Zumeta registered surprise.
    “This I did not know.” he said softly. “Policewomen I have heard of in your country, but private detectives—”
    He left the thought unfinished and Karen said: “My agency represents a company that would like to buy the shares that Arnold Grayson would control—if he returned. I came to make him an offer.”
    Zumeta seemed a bit puzzled, his tone of voice said so. “But Mr. Baker did not work for you. How then did you know Mr. Grayson was in Caracas?”
    The question made her glance at Jeff. She hesitated, as though giving him a chance to tell his side of the story. When he remained silent she lowered her glance.
    “My office didn’t tell me how they knew,” she said woodenly. “They only told me where I could find him and that I was to make him this offer.”
    “You knew about this, Mr. Lane?”
    “Not until today,” Jeff said.
    “I see,” Zumeta said in a tone that suggested quite the opposite. He frowned and bunched his lips. “You arrived at Maiquetia this morning. Miss Holmes. Did you see Mr. Grayson?”
    “Late this morning.”
    “Did he accept your offer?”
    “He—he said he would let me know.”
    The statement was like a reprieve to Jeff. He had foreseen the question and had been afraid to speculate on the answer. Unconsciously he had held his breath while a cord tightened across his chest and now the tension was gone and he could breathe again. She had picked him up; she had tricked him, and got in the first word, but he still had a chance. He was in no mood to gloat but he felt immeasurably better as Zumeta said:
    “And you have not seen Mr. Grayson