Certainly not." But again the Doctor's air had that odd
mixture of truth and falsehood in it.
The detective paused for an instant.
"Let me see your key ring!" he ordered. The Doctor passed it over
silently. The detective glanced at the keys--then, suddenly, his
revolver glittered in his other hand.
The Doctor watched him anxiously. A puff of wind rattled the panes
of the French windows. The storm, quieted for a while, was gathering
its strength for a fresh unleashing of its dogs of thunder.
The detective stepped to the terrace door, opened it, and then
quietly proceeded to try the Doctor's keys in the lock. Thus located
he was out of visual range, and Wells took advantage of it at once.
He moved swiftly toward the fireplace, extracting the missing piece of
blue-print from an inside pocket as he did so. The secret the
blue-print guarded was already graven on his mind in indelible
characters--now he would destroy all evidence that it had ever been
in his possession and bluff through the rest of the situation as best
he might.
He threw the paper toward the flames with a nervous gesture of relief.
But for once his cunning failed--the throw was too hurried to be sure
and the light scrap of paper wavered and settled to the floor just
outside the fireplace. The Doctor swore noiselessly and stooped to
pick it up and make sure of its destruction. But he was not quick
enough. Through the window the detective had seen the incident, and
the next moment the Doctor heard his voice bark behind him.
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