"Why this man's a
gentleman!" she thought. "At least he looks like one--and yet--
you can tell from his face he'd have as little mercy as a steel trap
for anyone he had to--catch--" She shuddered uncontrollably.
"Dale, dear," said Miss Cornelia with triumph in her voice. "This
is Mr. Anderson."
The newcomer bowed politely, glancing at her casually and then
looking away. Miss Cornelia, however, was obviously in fine feather
and relishing to the utmost the presence of a real detective in the
house.
"This is the room I spoke of," she said briskly. "All the
disturbances have taken place around that terrace door."
The detective took three swift steps into the alcove, glanced about
it searchingly. He indicated the stairs.
"That is not the main staircase?"
"No, the main staircase is out there," Miss Cornelia waved her hand
in the direction of the hall.
The detective came out of the alcove and paused by the French windows.
"I think there must be a conspiracy between the Architects'
Association and the Housebreakers' Union these days," he said grimly.
"Look at all that glass. All a burglar needs is a piece of putty
and a diamond-cutter to break in."
"But the curious thing is," continued Miss Cornelia, "that whoever
got into the house evidently had a key to that door." Again she
indicated the terrace door, but Anderson did not seem to be listening
to her.
"Hello--what's this?" he said sharply, his eye lighting on the
broken glass below the shattered French window.
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