"It is all clear," she said. "Of course the Doctor had the
blue-print. And the Bat tried to get it from him. Then when the
Doctor had stunned him and locked him in the billiard room, the
Bat still had the key and unlocked his own handcuffs. After that
he had only to get out of a window and shut us in here."
And again:
"He had probably trailed the real detective all the way from town
and attacked him where Mr. Beresford found the watch."
Once, too, she harkened back to the anonymous letters--
"It must have been a blow to the Doctor and Courtleigh Fleming when
they found me settled in the house!" She smiled grimly. "And when
their letters failed to dislodge me."
But it was the Bat who held her interest; his daring assumption of
the detective's identity, his searching of the house ostensibly for
their safety but in reality for the treasure, and that one moment
of irresolution when he did not shoot the Doctor at the top of the
ladder. And thereafter lost his chance--
It somehow weakened her terrified admiration for him, but she had
nothing but acclaim for the escape he had made from the Hidden
Room itself.
"That took brains," she said. "Cold, hard brains. To dash out of
that room and down the stairs, pull off his mask and pick up a
candle, and then to come calmly back to the trunk room again and
accuse the Doctor--that took real ability. But I dread to think
what would have happened when he asked us all to go out and leave
him alone with the real Anderson!"
It was after two o'clock when she finally sent the young people
off to get some needed sleep but she herself was still bright-eyed
and wide-awake.
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