by a cold
voice from the doorway.

"We are waiting for you, Kent," and Colonel McIntyre stood aside to let
him pass from the room ahead of him, then without a backward glance at
the injured butler, he closed and locked the bedroom door.

CHAPTER XVIII. THE FATAL PERIOD

As Kent walked into the library he found Colonel McIntyre by his side;
the latter's even breathing gave no indication of the haste he had made
down the staircase to catch up with Kent.

Detective Ferguson hardly noted their arrival, his attention being given
wholly to the examination of the Venetian casket which had played such
an important part in the drama of the night before. The casket and its
companion piece stood on either side of the room near a window recess.
The long straight shape of the high boxes on their graceful base gave
no indication of the use to which they had been put in ancient days, but
made attractive as well as unique pieces of furniture.

Kent crossed the library and, after looking inside the casket, examined
the exterior with care.

"Don't touch that crest," cautioned Ferguson, observing that Kent's
glance remained focused on the blood-stained, raised letter "B" and the
carving back of it. "In fact, don't touch any part of the casket, I'm
trying to get finger prints."

Kent barely heard the warning as he turned to McIntyre.

"Haven't I seen that letter 'B' design on your stationery, Colonel?" he
asked.

"Barbara uses it," was the reply. "She fancied the antique lettering,
and copied the 'B' for the engraver; she is handy with her pen, you
know."

"Did she wish the 'B' for a seal?" inquired Kent.

"Yes, she had a seal made like it also." McIntyre moved closer to the
casket. "Found anything, Ferguson?"

The detective withdrew his head from the opening at the end of the
casket, and regarded the furniture vexedly.

"Not a thing," he acknowledged. "Except I am convinced that it required
dexterity to slip Grimes inside the casket. The butler is small and
slight, but he must have been unconscious from that tap on the forehead
and, therefore, a dead weight. Whoever picked him up must have been
some athlete, and"--running his eyes up and down Colonel McIntyre's
well-knit, erect frame--"pretty familiar with the workings of this
casket."

"Pooh! It's not so difficult a feat," McIntyre shrugged his shoulders
disdainfully. "My daughters, as children, used to play hide and seek
inside the casket with each new governess."