sappearance of Fisher was noticed, but
the cross-examination of the terrified Mrs. Beale removed any doubt that
T. X. had as to the man's guilt.

"You had better send out an 'All Stations' message and pull him in,"
said T. X. "He was with the cook from the moment the visitor left until
a few minutes before we rang. Besides which it is obviously impossible
for anybody to have got into this room or out again. Have you searched
the dead man?"

Mansus produced a tray on which Kara's belongings had been disposed.
The ordinary keys Mrs. Beale was able to identify. There were one or two
which were beyond her. T. X. recognised one of these as the key of the
safe, but two smaller keys baffled him not a little, and Mrs. Beale was
at first unable to assist him.

"The only thing I can think of, sir," she said, "is the wine cellar."

"The wine cellar?" said T. X. slowly. "That must be--" he stopped.

The greater tragedy of the evening, with all its mystifying aspects had
not banished from his mind the thought of the girl--that Belinda Mary,
who had called upon him in her hour of danger as he divined. Perhaps--he
descended into the kitchen and was brought face to face with the
unpainted door.

"It looks more like a prison than a wine cellar," he said.

"That's what I've always thought, sir," said Mrs. Beale, "and sometimes
I've had a horrible feeling of fear."

He cut short her loquacity by inserting one of the keys in the lock--it
did not turn, but he had more success with the second. The lock snapped
back easily and he pulled the door back. He found the inner door bolted
top and bottom. The bolts slipped back in their well-oiled sockets
without any effort. Evidently Kara used this place pretty frequently,
thought T. X.

He pushed the door open and stopped with an exclamation of surprise. The
cellar apartment was brilliantly lit--but it was unoccupied.

"This beats the band," said T. X.

He saw something on the table and lifted it up. It was a pair of
long-bladed scissors and about the handle was wound a handkerchief. It
was not this fact which startled him, but that the scissors' blades were
dappled with blood and blood, too, was on the handkerchief. He unwound
the flimsy piece of cambric and stared at the monogram "B. M. B."

He looked around. Nobody had seen the weapon and he dropped it in his
overcoat pocket, and walked from the cellar to the kitchen where Mrs.
Beale and Mansus awaited him.

"There is a lower cel