several things that day that bewildered me. About three
o'clock Mr. Jamieson telephoned from the Casanova station and Warner
went down to meet him. I got up and dressed hastily, and the detective
was shown up to my sitting-room.

"No news?" I asked, as he entered. He tried to look encouraging,
without success. I noticed that he looked tired and dusty, and,
although he was ordinarily impeccable in his appearance, it was clear
that he was at least two days from a razor.

"It won't be long now, Miss Innes," he said. "I have come out here on
a peculiar errand, which I will tell you about later. First, I want to
ask some questions. Did any one come out here yesterday to repair the
telephone, and examine the wires on the roof?"

"Yes," I said promptly; "but it was not the telephone. He said the
wiring might have caused the fire at the stable. I went up with him
myself, but he only looked around."

Mr. Jamieson smiled.

"Good for you!" he applauded. "Don't allow any one in the house that
you don't trust, and don't trust anybody. All are not electricians who
wear rubber gloves."

He refused to explain further, but he got a slip of paper out of his
pocketbook and opened it carefully.

"Listen," he said. "You heard this before and scoffed. In the light
of recent developments I want you to read it again. You are a clever
woman, Miss Innes. Just as surely as I sit here, there is something in
this house that is wanted very anxiously by a number of people. The
lines are closing up, Miss Innes."

The paper was the one he had found among Arnold Armstrong's effects,
and I read it again:

"----by altering the plans for----rooms, may be possible. The best
way, in my opinion, would be to----the plan for----in one of
the----rooms----chimney."

"I think I understand," I said slowly. "Some one is searching for the
secret room, and the invaders--"

"And the holes in the plaster--"

"Have been in the progress of his--"

"Or her--investigations."

"Her?" I asked.

"Miss Innes," the detective said, getting up, "I believe that somewhere
in the walls of this house is hidden some of the money, at least, from
the Traders' Bank. I believe, just as surely, that young Walker
brought home from California the knowledge of something of the sort
and, failing in his effort to reinstall Mrs. Armstrong and her daughter
here, he, or a confederate, has tried to break into the house. On two
occasions I think he succeed