"Well, he didn't get out by the window because it's shut, and there's no chimney for him to melt out of." "Look here, Marc Scott, ain't you ashamed of yourself? Coming here and talking to ladies like that--and in the middle of the night, too." Mrs. Van Zandt was as angry as the other two. "That key couldn't get out of this house to-night without my knowing it. He's brainy enough to get out without help, that fellow." "He may be brainy, but he's hardly brilliant enough to go through a locked door," said Scott, obstinately. "Somebody let him out, that's all. If you'll be kind enough to look for the key, Miss Street, and see if it's been taken away----" "How could it be? From my room?" demanded Polly, angrily. "Are you going to hold an inquest over it?" asked Mrs. Van, cuttingly. "I see the jury coming along." Johnson, O'Grady and Hard were coming across the street. Polly drew her blanket closely around her and tucked one bare foot behind the other. Her reddish colored braids gave her a squaw-like appearance in the darkness. "It's all right, Scotty, don't stir up the community," called Hard, cheerfully. "I'm the guilty party." "You!" "It never dawned on me till I saw the unlocked door," confessed Hard, with a chuckle. "The chap must have found that old bunch of keys that's been knocking around in the pocket of my old office coat. I'm afraid that's where he got the knife that did for poor Yellow, too." "Do you mean there was a duplicate key?" demanded Scott. "There must have been. Clever chap to ferret it out," replied Hard, breezily. "Mighty clever. I could open a door myself with a key in my hand," muttered Scott, as he turned away. "Well, he's gone and the car's gone and we might as well go back to bed." "Just one moment." Polly's voice was clear and firm. "I think you owe me an apology, Mr. Scott." There was a suppressed chuckle from the rear where the train gang still lingered. Scott stiffened and cleared his throat consciously. "I apologize," he said; then, as he saw the others disappear down the street, "Will you shake hands?" "Not right now; I'm going to think it over," said the girl, coolly. "I think you should have known that I wouldn't do a thing like that." "Well, I did know it, of course," confessed Scott, helplessly. "But----" "But you didn't believe it." Polly's voice was cutting. "Well, next time have a little more faith in your friends, Mr. Scott," and the blanketed figure disappeared into the house. "She had you there," observed Mrs. Van. "Well, go home to bed before you wake up Jimmy--it's a wonder he's slept through this all right." She went into the house and knocked softly at the girl's door--after listening a moment and assuring herself that Adams had not wakened. Polly's room was dark and she was standing, still wrapped in the blanket, by the window in the moonlight. "Well?" she said, rather curtly.