first because Grimes insists on seeing you,
and second, because I am determined that this midnight house-breaking
shall be thoroughly investigated and put an end to. This way," and he
led them into a large airy bedroom on the third floor, to which Grimes
had been carried unconscious that morning, instead of to his own bedroom
in the servants' quarters.

Grimes, with his head swathed in bandages, was a woe-begone object. He
greeted Colonel McIntyre and the detective with a sullen glare, but his
eyes brightened at sight of Kent, and he moved a feeble hand in welcome.

"Sit down, sirs," he mumbled. "There's chairs for all."

"Don't worry about us," remarked McIntyre cheerily. "Just tell us how
you got that nasty knock on the head."

"I dunno, sir; it came like a clap o' thunder," Grimes tried to lift
his head, but gave over the attempt as excruciating pain followed the
effort.

"What hour of the morning was it?" asked Ferguson.

"About one o'clock, as near as I can tell, sir."

"And what were you doing in the library at that hour, Grimes?" demanded
McIntyre.

"Trying to find out what your household was up to, sir," was Grimes'
unexpected answer, and McIntyre started.

"Explain your meaning, Grimes," he commanded sternly.

"You can do it better than I can, sir," retorted Grimes. "You know the
reason every one's searching the room with the seven doors."

"The room with the seven doors!" echoed Ferguson. "Which is that?"

"Grimes means the library." McIntyre's tone was short. "I have no idea,
Grimes, what your allegations mean. Be more explicit."

The butler eyed him in no friendly fashion. "Wasn't Mr. Turnbull
arrested in that very room?" he demanded. "And what was he looking for?"

"Mr. Turnbull's presence has been explained," replied McIntyre. "He came
here disguised as a burglar on a wager with my daughter, Miss Barbara."

"Ah, did he now?" Grimes' rising inflection indicated nervous tension.
"Did a man with a bad heart come here in the dead of night for nothing
but that foolishness?" Grimes glared at his three visitors. "You bet he
didn't."

Ferguson, who had followed the dialogue between McIntyre and his servant
with deep attention, addressed the excited man.

"Why did Mr. Turnbull enter Colonel McIntyre's library on Monday night
disguised as a burglar?" he asked.

Grimes, by a twist of his head, managed to regard the detective out of
the corner of his eye.

"Aye, why did he?" he repeated. "That's