McTighe of the
_Eagle_, Mr. Knox. They heard the shot in there, and if I hadn't told
the story, there would have been a panic. What's the matter with you?"

I shut the door into the grill-room and faced the three men.

"For God's sake, Burton," I panted, "let's get up-stairs quietly. I
didn't fire any shot. There's a woman dead up there."

With characteristic poise, the three reporters took the situation
quietly. We filed through the grill-room as casually as we could; with
the door closed, however, we threw caution aside. I led the way up the
stairs to the room where I had found Fleming's body, and where I
expected to find another.

On the landing at the top of the stairs I came face to face with
Davidson, the detective, and behind him Judge McFeely. Davidson was
trying to open the door of the room where Fleming had been shot, with a
skeleton key. But it was bolted inside. There was only one thing to do:
I climbed on the shoulders of one of the men, a tall fellow, whose face
to this day I don't remember, and by careful maneuvering and the
assistance of Davidson's long arms, I got through the transom and
dropped into the room.

I hardly know what I expected. I was in total darkness. I know that when
I had got the door open at last, when the cheerful light from the hall
streamed in, and I had not felt Schwartz's heavy hand at my throat, I
drew a long breath of relief. Burton found the electric light switch
and turned it on. And then--I could hardly believe my senses. The room
was empty.

One of the men laughed a little.

"Stung!" he said lightly. "What sort of a story have you and your friend
framed up, Burton?"

But I stopped at that minute and picked up a small nickel-plated
revolver from the floor. I held it out, on my palm, and the others eyed
it respectfully.

Burton, after all, was the quickest-witted of the lot. He threw open one
of the two doors in the room, revealing a shallow closet, with papered
walls and a row of hooks. The other door stuck tight. One of the men
pointed to the floor; a bit of black cloth had wedged it, from the other
side. Our combined efforts got it open at last, and we crowded in the
doorway, looking down a flight of stairs.

Huddled just below us, her head at our feet, was the body of the missing
woman.

"My God," Burton said hoarsely, "who is it?"

CHAPTER XXIII

A BOX OF CROWN DERBY

We got her into the room and on the couch before I knew her. Her fair
hair h