leaned forward breathlessly.

"Eradicating ink is simply a bleaching process," she remarked, "which
leaves the iron of the ink as a white oxide instead of a black oxide.
The proper reagent will restore the original color--partially and at
least for a time. Ah--yes--it is as I thought. There have been erasures
in these checks. Other names have been written in on some of them in
place of those that were originally there. The sulphide of ammonia
ought to bring out anything that is hidden here."

There, faintly, was the original writing. It read, "Pay to the order
of--Helen Brett--"

Mrs. Douglas with difficulty restrained an exclamation of anger and
hatred at the mere sight of the name of the other woman.

"He was careful," remarked Constance. "Reckless at first in giving
checks-he has tried to cover it up. He didn't want to destroy them, yet
he couldn't have such evidence about. So he must have altered the name
on the canceled vouchers after they were returned to him paid by the
bank. Very clever--very."

Constance reached into the safe again. There were some personal and
some business letters, some old check books, some silver and gold
trinkets and table silver.

She gave a low exclamation. She had found a packet of letters and a
sheaf of typewritten flimsy tissue paper pages.

Mrs. Douglas uttered a little cry, quickly suppressed. The letters were
those in her own handwriting addressed to Lynn Munro.

"Here are Drummond's reports, too," Constance added.

She looked them hastily over. The damning facts had been massed in a
way that must inevitably have prejudiced any case for the defense that
Mrs. Douglas might set up.

"There--there's all the evidence against you," whispered Constance
hoarsely, handing it over to Anita. "It's all yours again. Destroy it."

In her eagerness, with trembling hands, Anita had torn up the whole
mass of incriminating papers and had cast them into the fireplace. She
was just about to strike a match.

Suddenly there came a deep voice from the stairs.

"Well--what's all this?"

Anita dropped the match from her nerveless hands. Constance felt an arm
grasp her tightly. For a moment a chill ran over her at being caught in
the nefarious work of breaking and entering a dwelling-house at night.
The hand was Anita's, but the voice was that of a man.

Lights flashed all over the house at once, from a sort of electric
light system that could be instantly lighted and would act as a
"bur