There was a cluster of small lights on a pole in the middle of the big courtyard, and the shades of many of the windows opening on it were up. It was light enough, therefore, for the detective to see with reasonable clearness—and to be seen, if any one happened to look in his direction. He leaned over the rail and peered down. He was only at the level of the second floor, but the pavement of the courtyard was flush with the basement; therefore, two floors beneath him. He looked to see if the lowest ladder of the fire escape was in place but saw that it was not. “Stone probably dropped from the last platform,” he concluded. “It wouldn’t have been anything for a man of his active habits. I wonder how he expects to get back, though. By George! There’s a painter’s ladder lying on the pavement on the other side of the court. Such things never ought to be left around. The sight of that ladder would tickle a thief to death. Stone probably saw it and made his plans accordingly. “He expects to use it to reach the lower platform, but I’m curious to know what else is in his mind. According to Crawford he’s sane enough in all respects but one—and he wasn’t born yesterday. He must know that he can’t leave the ladder set up against the landing when he comes back to his room. If he does, there will surely be an investigation in the morning, if not before. Does he merely think that there will be a little burglar scare which won’t affect him, or is there something deeper in all this? “Has he gone off half-cocked, or—— Great Ned! I wonder if that can be it. If he were going to bring some one back with him—some one who would be leaving by the same route later on who could put the ladder back where it was originally—that would effectually remove the difficulty. If Stone is as shrewd as I give him credit for being, I’ll wager that’s what’s in the wind. And I can give a guess at his prospective visitor’s identity.” He referred, of course, to Doctor Follansbee; and the possibility that the latter was expected later on that night was enough to stir his pulses. It suggested that the period of inactivity was about to come to an end, and that the test of his unsolicited guardianship of Winthrop Crawford was at hand. Stone had gone, and it was unnecessary, as well as useless, to attempt to follow him. All that remained was to await his return as patiently as possible, and in the meantime to keep an eye—or at least, an ear—out for Crawford. The latter proved an easy matter, for about an hour later he heard the door of Crawford’s room open and close, and from his window saw the light flash up in his new friend’s. A glance at his watch told him that it was now almost ten o’clock. He knew that Crawford was a man who rose early, and there was every probability that the miner was about to turn in for the night.