came to the library for a book, and the bookcases are in
another part of the room."

"Quite so, but the book she wished was lying on the top of this casket,"
replied McIntyre, meeting their level looks with one equally steadfast.
"I know because I left the book there."

Ferguson glanced from McIntyre to Kent and back again at the Colonel in
non-plussed silence. The explanation was pat.

"I'd like to talk with Mrs. Brewster," he remarked dryly.

"Certainly." McIntyre pressed an electric button. The summons was
answered immediately by the new servant, Murray. "Ask Mrs. Brewster
if she can see Detective Ferguson in the library, Murray," McIntyre
directed.

"Beg pardon, sir, but Mrs. Brewster has just gone out," and with a bow
Murray withdrew.

Kent, who had drawn forward a chair preparatory to sitting down and
participating in the interview with the widow, changed his mind.

"I must leave at once," he said, after consulting his watch. "Please
inform Mrs. Brewster, Colonel, that I will be in my office this
afternoon, and I expect her to make me the visit she postponed this
morning. Ferguson," turning back to address the detective, "you'll
find me at the Saratoga for the next hour. Good morning," and paying no
attention to Colonel McIntyre's request to remain, he left the room.

There was no one in the hall and Kent debated a moment whether or not to
ring for the servant and ask to see Barbara, but, at sight of the hall
table, Grimes' confidences recurred to him and drove everything else
out of his mind. Stopping before the table he contemplated its smooth
surface before moving the few ornaments it held. Satisfied that no
pillbox stood behind any of them, he pulled open the two drawers and
tumbled their contents about. His efforts only brought to light some
half-empty cigarette boxes, matches, a scratch pad or two, and old
visiting cards.

Kent shut the drawers, picked up his hat, and took his cane from the
tall china umbrella-stand by the hall table. As he stepped through
the front doorway he caught sight of the end of his cane, which he was
carrying tucked under his arm. Fastened to the ferule of the cane was
the round top of a paste-board pill box.

Kent backed so swiftly into the house again that his figure blocked the
closing of the front door, which he had started to pull shut after him.
Letting the door close gently he walked back to the umbrella stand. It
was a tall heavy affair, and he had some difficul