t Varr's life?"

"I don't know." Krech grinned. "If I lay the foundation, it's up to
you to erect the edifice. Brain-work, not manual labor, is my forte."
Then he added more seriously, "I've thought of something; instead of
the accomplice being actually a member of the household, mightn't he be
just some one who has the entree--the run of the house? Some one who
could carry off the situation if he had been discovered in the
living-room or study by the servants?"

"That's a good point, Krech; a very good point. I'll inquire into that
possibility."

"So you're going to make this your headquarters?"

"Assuredly." Creighton tapped his pocket. "This decided it."

"Well--take care of yourself, won't you?" There was genuine concern in
the big man's voice as he went on with specious flippancy. "Miss
Copley left a dagger kicking around; let's hope she hasn't dropped an
automatic or a machine-gun here and there. If Mr. Monk got the idea
that you knew too much--"

"All right." Creighton reached out and gave Krech's arm an
affectionate squeeze. "Don't worry; I'm an artist at taking care of
myself."

"I know a darn' sight better!" growled Krech, and the honking of a horn
from the driveway ended their talk. "Good-by. I'm going to pump Jason
Bolt and if I glean anything I'll let you know in the morning."

Creighton waved good-night to him from the veranda and stepped back
into the house to find the maid awaiting him in the hall.

"Your bag has gone up, sir. Shall I show you your room?"

"Thank you. By the way, what is your name?"

"Betty, sir. Betty Blake."

"Very pretty name, too." He motioned her to precede him up the stairs.
"Been with Mrs. Varr long?"

"About four months, sir."

"Are you a Hambleton girl?"

"Yes, sir, born and bred."

The room assigned to him was one of the best in the house. It was next
to Miss Ocky's own, he was to discover later, and like hers it had a
small rounded balcony outside the tall windows. He glanced about him
appreciatively. He could rough it with any man, but he vastly
preferred to be comfortable. Here he would be, if his eye didn't
deceive him.

"Native, eh?" he continued conversationally as the girl made to leave
him. "Then you must know every one in these parts. For instance--do
you know a young man called Maxon?"

"Charlie Maxon?" She tossed her head. "Yes, I know _him_!" Her
accent was richly scornful. "Pity they couldn't keep him in jail!"