“I wish Carter would put out that light of his,” she murmured, as she passed his room. “I don’t trust him, and I’d rather think he was asleep.” She stood again outside Lord Vinton’s door, and as she came near the keyhole, she could distinguish the pungent odor of the narcotic she had sprayed into the bedroom. It has practically all blown out of the window by this time,” she thought. “If I didn’t know it so well, I don’t suppose I should smell it.” From the black bag she took out what looked like a pair of long slim scissors, with spreading claws, which could be opened and closed at will. It was an implement for turning a key in a lock from the opposite side of the door. To police and criminals it is known as an “outsider.” Gripping the end of the key through the keyhole with the powerful nippers, she turned the key almost as easily as if she had been inside the door. “So much for that,” she murmured. “But there is the bolt! Well, I guess I can negotiate that.” She had provided for the inmate of the room obeying the familiar injunction found in all hotel bedrooms nowadays: “Guests will please lock and bolt their doors before retiring for the night.” The implement she took out of her bag now was not much like the “outsider,” but it proved equally effective. Thin as paper, it was strong and highly tempered, and, after a few moments of careful manipulation, she had the bolt back and the door a little way open. The room was in darkness. She felt for and turned the button of the electric light, but she left the light on only long enough to show her where the gas jet was. She lighted the gas, turned it low, and then put out the incandescent. Going to the bed, she gazed for a few moments at the face of the man who lay unconscious in it. One hand lay outside the counterpane. She lifted the hand boldly, and pressing her fingers upon the wrist, felt for the pulse. It was faint, but steady. “He will be all right after a while,” she muttered. “That mixture of mine does its work scientifically. It knocks them cold for the time being, and afterward they are as well as ever. That old German chemist certainly knows his business, and this formula was worth all I paid for it.” She hurried back to her room, gave the signal, and was admitted by the mate. “Come to this room--you and Groton--and dress this man in the bed. Put everything on him that he should wear, including necktie and collar, watch fob and so on. Make him look as if he had dressed himself.” Kennedy grinned and shook his head doubtfully. “That won’t be so easy,” he protested. “Dressing a man who can’t help himself will be a tough proposition.” “Never mind! Do as well as you can. I’ll show you the room. Then I’ll come back here. When you have him ready, send Groton to tell me. You stay in the room till I come. We have to get him away.”