n the cellar.

"Not a sound now!" he cautioned once more.

His flashlight winked, went out, winked again; then held steadily, in
curious fascination it seemed, as, in its circuit, the ray fell upon
Hagan--FELL UPON THE TORN, RAGGED EDGE OF A PAPER IN HAGAN'S HAND! With
a suppressed cry, Jimmie Dale snatched it away from the other. It
was but a torn HALF of the letter! "The other half! The other half,
Hagan--where is it?" he demanded hoarsely.

Hagan, almost in a state of collapse, muttered inaudibly. The crash of a
toppling door sounded from above. Jimmie Dale shook the man desperately.

"Where is it?" he repeated fiercely.

"He--he was holding it tight, it--it tore in his hand," Hagan stammered.
"Does it make any difference? Oh, let's get out of here, whoever you
are--for God's sake let's get out of here!"

Any difference! Jimmie Dale's jaws were clamped like a steel vise. Any
difference! The difference between life and death for the man beside
him--that was all! He was reading the portion in his hand. It was the
last part of the letter, beginning with: "There's a paper stuck under
the edge of Hagan's table--" From above, from the floor of the front
room now, came the rush and trample of feet. He could not go back for
the other half. And any attempt to conceal the fact that Connie Myers
had been alone in the house was futile now. They would find the torn
letter in the dead man's hand, proof enough that some one else had been
there. What was in that part of the letter that was still clutched in
that death grip upstairs? A sentence from it, that he had heard Connie
Myers read, seemed to burn itself into his brain. "IF YOU WANT TO KNOW
WHO DID IT, LOOK IN MIKE HAGAN'S ROOM ON THE FLOOR ABOVE." And then,
suddenly, like light through the darkness, came a ray of hope. He pulled
Hagan to the cellarway, and stealthily lifted one side of the double
trapdoor. There was a chance, desperate enough, one in a thousand--but
still a chance!

Voices from the house came plainly now, but there was no one in sight.
The police, to a man, were evidently all inside. From the road in front
showed the lamp glare of their automobile.

"Run for the car!" Jimmie Dale jerked out from between set teeth--and
with Hagan beside him, steadying the man by the arm, dashed across the
intervening fifty yards.

They had not been seen. A minute more, and the car, evidently belonging
to the local police, for it was headed in the direction of New Yor