fternoon.
He was not nervous, but again he made a tour of inspection of the first
floor and basement, looking into closets, and testing windows to make
sure they were all locked. Everywhere there were evidences of the
thoroughness of the police detectives who had searched for the weapon
with which Nita Selim had been murdered. In the basement, as he had
subconsciously noted on his headlong dash to question Lydia Carr, the
furnace doors swung open, and the lids of the laundry tubs had been left
propped up, after the unavailing search....

He plodded wearily up the basement stairs and on into the kitchen.
Perhaps the ice-box had something fit to eat in it--the fruit intended
for Nita's and Lydia's Sunday breakfast. Those caviar and anchovy
sandwiches had certainly not stuck with him long....

He was making his way toward the electric refrigerator when he stopped
as suddenly as if he had been shot.

The kitchen door, which he had taken especial pains to assure himself
was locked, when he had made the rounds immediately after the departure
of Captain Strawn and his men, was standing slightly ajar!

_Someone had entered this house!_

Dundee stared blankly at the door, which was equipped with a Yale lock.
Someone with a key.... But why had the door been left ajar? _To make
escape more noiseless?_

With the toe of his shoe Dundee pushed the door to and heard the click
of the lock, then, all thought of food routed from his mind, made a
quick but almost silent dash into the dining room to secure one of the
pair of tall wax tapers, which, in their silver candlesticks, served as
ornaments for the sideboard.

If the intruder was still in the house he could be nowhere but in that
unfinished half of the gabled top story. The nearer stairs were those in
the back hall, and Dundee took them two at a time, regardless of the
noise. Who had preceded him stealthily?... By the aid of his lighted
candle he discovered an electric switch at the head of the stairs,
flicked it on, and found himself in a wide hall, one wall of which was
finished with buff-tinted plaster and with three doors, the other of
rough boards with but a single door.

With his candle held high, so that its light should not blind him, and
well aware that it made him a perfect target, Dundee opened the
unpainted door and found himself in the dark, musty-smelling room that
had served Nita Selim and the Crains before her as a storeroom. From the
ceiling dangled a gree