"That was a little different, sir, from walking in on him unannounced. Besides, I really did wish to see him." "For what purpose?" It was the crucial question, and we all craned our necks in our eagerness to catch the reply. But Campion's voice was without a tremor. "To restore the matchbox and claim the twenty dollars reward," he answered. "What proof can you give that the article in question was lost and a reward offered for its return?" The mulatto drew a folded newspaper from his pocket, and handed it to Judge Hendricks. It was a copy of the _King William County Clarion_, and a paragraph in the advertising columns was heavily blue-pencilled. It was to the effect that a gold and turquoise-jewelled matchbox, bearing the initials F. H. G., had been lost on the road between Calverton and Lynn. A reward of twenty dollars was offered for its return to Mr. Graeme of "Hildebrand Hundred." "The date of this copy of the Clarion," said Judge Hendricks, frowning portentously, "is June 10, 1919. In the absence of any further evidence I direct the discharge of the prisoner." * * * * * "There still remain some interesting possibilities," said Warriner to me, as we walked down the street. "On one side of the locked door that black shadow of a woman, ready to do anything to save her lover's fortune; on the other, that yellow-faced scoundrel, eager for plunder, fingering the master-key, and trying to muster up enough courage to use it. And between them, a dead man. Or was he dead at that particular moment? Perhaps the two of them, working together, might have brought the thing about." "But Campion could hardly have committed the murder, returned the master-key to its position behind the clock, and left the house, by the kitchen entrance, in the short space of five minutes," I objected. "Well, how is this for an hypothesis?" retorted Warriner. "Campion is the tool employed by John Thaneford to do the dirty work. He is instructed to be at the library door at a few minutes past one. Thaneford, with his telephoto lens, sees that Graeme is dozing in his chair. He signals to Eunice, who enters by the postern-door and admits the waiting Campion, the master-key not being used at all. The crime accomplished, both escape by the secret door, leaving the cocoon gummed in place to destroy the clue." "Rather fortuitous, don't you think? The whole train of circumstances goes off the track in case Mr. Graeme doesn't fall asleep at just the right moment." "Of course," agreed Warriner. "And I was beginning to fancy myself as an amateur sleuth," he added a trifle ruefully. "Anyway you have the magnifying telephoto lens and the purloined cocoon to your credit, my dear Chalmers. As for the rest of it, we may as well fall back on our coroner's verdict: Dead by the visitation of God. Will you come back to dinner this evening?"