"Yes, I know, he slashed his wrists," I said. "But what about this business of no weapon?"

He smiled, yellow-fanged, sadly. "The police are satisfied with the explanation. Joseph committed suicide in his bathroom. He cut open his wrists and bled to death. Knowing Joseph, I know exactly what he did, once he made up his mind to do it. There was an open razor found nearby, without a blade. He took the blade from the razor, cut his wrists, dropped the blade into the toilet bowl, flushed the toilet, and bled to death. There was a good deal of blood, all over that bathroom, but no actual weapon. Joseph was meticulous, a creature of habit. He flushed the weapon away into the toilet bowl. The police agreed completely with my thinking in the matter. After all, I was his brother; I knew him."

I stood up, saying, "Thank you."

"Mr. Chambers, please." He fidgeted, hesitant, obviously embarrassed.

"Yes?" I said.

"Mr. Chambers," he blurted. "I believe you should return that fee to my sister."

"Why?"

"She doesn't need a private detective. She needs a doctor."

"I'm inclined to agree."

He smiled, seeming relieved that I understood and acquiesced. "I've already made inquiries," he said, "and I've selected a physician, nerve-specialist, psychiatrist, whatever the devil they call them these days. By some pretext or other, I'm going to get her to him."

"Good enough," I said. "As for the fee, I agree. It belongs with a doctor, rather than with me."

"You're extremely considerate. I thank you."