"Kiametia!" Foster shook her elbow roughly. "What are you hinting at?" "Hush!" The spinster pointed to the portieres in the doorway leading to the drawing-room. "Who is lurking there?" She spoke in a subdued whisper which reached Foster's ears alone, but as he rose, startled, the portieres parted and Detective Mitchell walked over to them. "Have you seen Captain Charles Miller?" he asked eagerly, omitting other greeting. "No," they replied in concert. "Strange! I saw him enter the front door half an hour ago, using a latchkey." "Charles Miller with a latchkey of this house!" gasped Miss Kiametia. "Yes," declared Mitchell, "and I have searched the house and cannot find him." "Perhaps he came to see Kathleen," suggested Foster. "Could you go and see if he is with her, Miss Grey?" urged Mitchell. "Her suite of rooms is the one place where I have not looked." "Yes, I--I suppose so," but the spinster held back. "Do go," put in Foster gently. "A clandestine meeting is not wise for either Kathleen or Miller. Think of the construction which may be put upon it." "True." But Miss Kiametia rose reluctantly, and to gain time to collect her ideas, walked over to the table to gather up her scarf and gold mesh purse. As she picked up the latter a slight scream escaped her. Instantly the two men were by her side. "See, it's missing!" she cried, raising the gold mesh purse with its dangling vanity box. "What is missing?" demanded Foster. "Don't look so distracted, my darling." "M-m-my g-gold p-p-pencil," she stuttered. "Is that all?" and Foster smiled in relief. "I'll buy you another tomorrow." "Indeed you won't," recovering some degree of composure. "I'll find mine, if I have to search this house from the top to the bottom." "But please see Miss Whitney first," broke in Mitchell. Miss Kiametia cast him a strange look. "That is the first place I shall go," she announced, and the two men watched her depart in silence. Foster was about to speak when the electric lights flickered, grew dim, and then went slowly out. "Trouble in the power house," grumbled Mitchell, searching his pocket for his electric torch. "I noticed a tie-up in the street cars just before I came in. Can you find any candles on the mantel, sir?" flashing his torch in that direction. "Every light in the house must be out." * * * * * Henry, the chauffeur, paused in indecision on Baron Frederic von Fincke's doorstep. "You are quite certain the Baron said he would return on the night train?" "Quite," answered the valet. "He is due here at seven o'clock in the morning. Good night."