It was three or four days later before we could venture to explore the smouldering debris. The furniture and other interior fittings were old and of no great value; all, of course, had been totally destroyed. The only thing left intact was a small safe, which I was informed, had stood in the room used by the elder Thaneford as an office. Now John Thaneford had not appeared at the sale, nor had he taken any steps to protect what interests he still retained in the estate. Everything in and about "Thane Court" had become my legal property, and so I had no hesitation in ordering the safe taken over to the "Hundred," it being my intention to open it and examine the contents. Of course any personal property would belong to John Thaneford, and I was quite sure of my own good faith in the matter. It might be impossible to locate the missing owner for some time to come, but we could cross that bridge when we came to it. The safe was of comparatively modern workmanship, and seemed to have suffered no damage from its ordeal by fire. It was equipped with the usual numbered dial lock, and, naturally, I did not possess the combination. I could have sent for a safe expert from Baltimore, but the expense would have been considerable. Or mechanics from Calverton could have forced an opening by means of the oxygen flame, but so violent a procedure would have destroyed the safe itself, and I was not quite certain that I had the right to take such drastic action. True, John Thaneford had abandoned his property, and everything had been sold without reserve; nevertheless, I wanted to be sure of my ground before going further. The safe had been thoroughly cleansed, and now stood temporarily under the principal staircase. I never passed it without an inquiring glance; somehow Betty and I could not resist the temptation of speculating about it; we were as curious as children, ever intent upon discovering what secrets it might hold. But how to find the key to the mystery? And then one evening Betty had a brilliant idea. "Do you remember," she asked, "a series of numbers that I got from Mr. Thaneford the day he died?" "Of course." I pulled out my note-book, and read the formula aloud: "1-4-2-4-8." "He certainly wanted to tell me something," persisted Betty. "Why shouldn't it have been the very combination we are looking for?" "Easy enough to find out," I answered. I went over to the safe, knelt down and took hold of the knob. Betty stood at my elbow, the note-book in her hand. "Ready?" she asked. "The numbers are: 1-4-2-4-8." I turned the knob, counting the clicks as they passed. The door yielded and swung open. Not much of a find after all--nothing but a leather-bound book resembling a diary in appearance. One of the covers had been slightly scorched by the intense heat, but the MS. seemed to be in excellent condition. I opened the book, scanned two or three lines, and looked up at Betty, who was leaning over my shoulder.