gan the woman, but then her eyes dropped before the
steady gaze of the detective. "I--that is--"

"Who was that man? Come, answer me truthfully, or I shall report this,
and let me say, my word will carry great weight."

"Oh, well, if you must know, it was Mr. Ostrello, Mrs. Langmore's son.
He wanted--er--some books he left here some time ago. I don't know why
he left in such a hurry. Perhaps because he didn't wish to meet you."

"Then you admit you lied to me, do you?"

At this the woman broke down completely and began to cry. "I didn't
want to do any wrong, sir. He said he wanted to get the books and he
didn't want every Tom, Dick and Harry to know he was here--those are
his own words. He's a very nice gentleman, and so--so--I said what I
did."

"You let him go through the house?"

"He had that right. It was his mother's home, wasn't it?"

"Yet you didn't want me to go through."

"A relative is different."

"Nevertheless, I think I'll take a look around, now he has gone,"
returned Adam Adams.

To this the woman felt she could no longer object and the policeman
merely shrugged his shoulders. From the pair the detective learned
that the safe had been opened by an expert in the presence of the
coroner and chief of police, who had then had the combination set to
suit themselves.

A tour of the mansion brought nothing new to light and Adam Adams left
by the back way and walked down to the brook. Then he leaped the
stream and took to a narrow path leading through the woods beyond.
Deep in the woods he paused, to make several changes in his appearance,
putting on a light wig and blue goggles and also an old-fashioned
collar and necktie. Then he rubbed a little brown powder on his hands
and face, rendering his complexion several shades darker than ordinary,

From a map of the county he had studied the surrounding roads
thoroughly, and soon came out on a highway leading to Matlock Styles'
residence. He was more than ever interested in the Englishman and
wondered what John Watkins, Tom Ostrello and Styles might have in
common.

In the distance he presently beheld a house he knew must be the Styles
place. There was a turn in the road and instead of going up to the
house by the front way the detective leaped a fence and passed through
a wheatfield. Beyond this, and quite close to the house and the
out-buildings, was a field planted with corn, between the rows of which
were pumpkins and squashes.

H