ardrop stopped his uneasy promenade and hailed
the detective on his way to the door.

"By George," he exclaimed, "I forgot to show you the closet under the
attic stairs!"

We hurried up and Wardrop showed us the panel in the hall, which slid to
one side when he pushed a bolt under the carpet. The blackness of the
closet was horrible in its suggestion to me. I stepped back while
Hunter struck a match and looked in.

The closet was empty.

"Better not go in," Wardrop said. "It hasn't been used for years and
it's black with dust. I found it myself and showed it to Miss Jane. I
don't believe Miss Letitia knows it is here."

"It hasn't been used for years!" reflected Hunter, looking around him
curiously. "I suppose it has been some time since you were in here, Mr.
Wardrop?"

"Several years," Wardrop replied carelessly. "I used to keep contraband
here in my college days, cigarettes and that sort of thing. I haven't
been in it since then."

Hunter took his foot off a small object that lay on the floor, and
picking it up, held it out to Wardrop, with a grim smile.

"Here is the fountain pen you lost this morning, Mr. Wardrop," he said
quietly.

CHAPTER VII

CONCERNING MARGERY

When Hunter had finally gone at six o'clock, summoned to town on urgent
business, we were very nearly where we had been before he came. He could
only give us theories, and after all, what we wanted was fact--and Miss
Jane. Many things, however, that he had unearthed puzzled me.

Why had Wardrop lied about so small a matter as his fountain pen? The
closet was empty: what object could he have had in saying he had not
been in it for years? I found that my belief in his sincerity of the
night before was going. If he had been lying then, I owed him something
for a lump on my head that made it difficult for me to wear my hat.

It would have been easy enough for him to rob himself, and, if he had an
eye for the theatrical, to work out just some such plot. It was even
possible that he had hidden for a few hours in the secret closet the
contents of the Russia leather bag. But, whatever Wardrop might or
might not be, he gave me little chance to find out, for he left the
house before Hunter did that afternoon, and it was later, and under
strange circumstances, that I met him again.

Hunter had not told me what was on the paper he had picked out of the
basket in Miss Jane's room, and I knew he was as much puzzled as I at
the scrap in the li