st. Where would Mrs. Markham have a cabinet if she ever
done materializin'? I had thought that all out--a little alcove library
in the rear of the back parlor. Give you plenty of room, when the
folding doors were open, for lights and effects. If there _was_ a
ceiling trap, it must be in the rooms above. I went into--into the
rooms"--here Rosalie paused an infinitesimal second as though making a
mental shift--"into the room above. Just over the alcove library is a
small sittin'-room. The--a bedroom opens off it--but has nothing to do
with the case. It's one of those new-fangled bare floor rooms. Right
over the cabinet space was a big rug. I pulled it aside and pried
around with a hair pin until I found a loose nail."

[Illustration: "I WAS LOOKING STRAIGHT DOWN ON THE BACK PARLORS"]

Rosalie paused for breath before she resumed:

"I went over the house again to be sure I was alone, before I pulled
out the nail. Well, sir, what happened like to knocked me over. The
minute that nail come out, a trap rose right up--on springs. I just
caught it in time to stop it from making a racket. I was looking
straight down on the back parlors. It's one of those flossy, ornamented
ceilings down there, and a panel of those ceiling ornaments came up
with the bottom of the trap. But that wasn't the funny thing about that
trap, nice piece of work as it was. It's a regular cupboard. Double,
you understand. Space in between--and all the fixings for a
materializin' seance, the straight fixings that the dope sees and the
crooked ones that only the medium and the spook sees, tucked inside. A
shutter lamp, blue glass--a set of gauze robes, phosphorescent stars
and crescents, a little rope ladder all curled up--and whole books of
notes. Right on top was"--she paused impressively to get suspense for
her climax--"was them notes on yellow foolscap that I seen in the hands
of the visitor last week. And"--another impressive pause--"they're the
dope for Robert H. Norcross!"

"The what?"

"The full information on him--dead sweetheart, passed out thirty years
ago up-state. Fine job with good little details--whoever got 'em must
'a' talked with somebody that was right close to her--an old aunt, I'm
thinking. But no medium made them notes. Looks like a private
detective's work. Not a bit of professional talk. The notes on Robert
H. Norcross. See!"

Dr. Blake, whose face had lightened more and more as he listened,
jumped up and grasped Rosalie's hand.