Miss Cornelia snatched up her revolver from the top of the hamper.
"Don't shoot--it's Jack!" came a warning cry from Dale as she
recognized the figure of her lover.
Miss Cornelia laid her revolver down on the hamper again. The
vacant eyes of the Unknown caught the movement.
Bailey swung in through the window, panting a little from his
exertions.
"The man Lizzie saw drop from the skylight undoubtedly got to the
roof from this window," he said. "It's quite easy."
"But not with one hand," said Miss Cornelia, with her gaze now
directed at the row of tall closets around the walls of the room.
"When that detective comes back I may have a surprise party for him,"
she muttered, with a gleam of hope in her eye.
Dale explained the situation to Jack.
"Aunt Cornelia thinks the money's still here."
Miss Cornelia snorted.
"I know it's here." She started to open the closets, one after the
other, beginning at the left. Bailey saw what she was doing and
began to help her.
Not so Lizzie. She sat on the floor in a heap, her eyes riveted on
the Unknown, who in his turn was gazing at Miss Cornelia's revolver
on the hamper with the intent stare of a baby or an idiot fascinated
by a glittering piece of glass.
Dale noticed the curious tableau.
"Lizzie--what are you looking at?" she said with a nervous shake in
her voice.
"What's he looking at?" asked Lizzie sepulchrally, pointing at the
Unknown. Her pointed forefinger drew his eyes away from the
revolver; he sank back into his former apathy, listless, drooping.
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