ake. He even measured the depths of the walls for any secret hiding
place. From room to room he passed, leisurely, always on the alert,
always listening. Once, as he opened a door on the third floor there
was a soft scurrying as though of a skirt across the floor. He struck
a match quickly, to find a great rat sitting up and looking at him with
black, beady eyes. It was the only sign of life he found in the whole
building.

When he had finished his search, he came down to the ground floor and
entered the room corresponding with the one from which he had heard
voices in the adjoining house. He crouched here upon the dusty boards
for some time, listening. Now and then he fancied that he could still
hear voices on the other side of the wall, but he was never absolutely
certain.

At last he rose to stretch himself, and almost as he did so a fresh
sound from outside attracted his notice. A motor-car had turned into the
Terrace. He walked to the uncurtained window and stood there, sure of
being himself unseen. Then his heart gave a great leap. Unemotional
though he was, this was a happening which might well have excited a
more phlegmatic individual. A motor-car which he remembered very well,
although it was driven now by a man in dark livery, had stopped at the
next house. A woman and two men had descended. Tavernake never glanced
at the latter; his eyes were fastened upon their companion. She was
wrapped in a long cloak, but she lifted her skirts as she crossed the
pavement, and he saw the flash of her silver buckles. Her carriage, her
figure, were unmistakable. It was Elizabeth who was paying this early
morning visit next door! Already the little party had disappeared. They
did not even ring the bell. The door must have been opened silently
at their coming. The motor-car glided off. Once more the Terrace was
deserted.

Tavernake felt sure that he knew now the solution,--there was a way from
this house into the next one. He struck another match and, standing back
a few yards, looked critically at the dividing wall. In ancient days
this had evidently been a dwelling-house of importance, elaborately
decorated, as the fresco work upon the ceiling still indicated. The wall
had been divided into three panels, with a high wainscoting. Inch by
inch he examined it from one end to the other; he started from the back
and came toward the front. About three-quarters of the way there, he
paused. It was very simple, after all. The soli