I arose betimes in the morning, despite the fact that I had been up most of the night, for I was determined to gain entrance to the Kingdon cottage and force an interview with Marcia Lawrence before I went to my appointment with her mother. Day had taken from my dream nothing of its vividness, but my nerves were normal again, and I could approach the task with a coolness which had not been possible the night before. That Marcia Lawrence had taken refuge with the Kingdons, I did not for an instant doubt; it was my business to prove it--to gain entrance to her presence and persuade her to grant Burr Curtiss a final interview. There was another mystery about the cottage which piqued and puzzled me. What was the meaning of that light in the cellar? What work had been going forward there, hour after hour? Whose was that shrill and violent voice which had threatened me through the door? And how had it been possible for the other inmates of the house to sleep on undisturbed through all that commotion? If Miss Lawrence were really there, would she not have heard me? I descended to the dining-room, revolving this problem in my mind, so intent upon it that I brushed into a man at the door. I turned to apologise and saw his face light up at sight of me. "Why, hello, Lester," he cried, holding out his hand. "This is luck!" "Hello, Godfrey," I answered, returning his clasp with interest. "Glad to see you." "Not half so glad as I am to see you. Come over here to this side-table where we can talk in peace. Quite like the Studio, isn't it?" I laughed responsively at the memory of that night when Jim Godfrey, of the _Record_, for purposes of his own, had kidnapped me and entertained me with a superb dinner at the famous Sixth Avenue resort. I had met him occasionally since, and had found him always the same genial, generous, astute fellow he had proved himself then. Trained on the detective force, he had been for some years the _Record's_ star reporter, and was employed only on what the newspapers love to call _causes célèbres_. Of course, I knew instantly what "_cause_" it was had brought him to Elizabeth. "Here on business?" he asked, as we sat down. "Yes. And you?" "Oh, I came down last night to write up this Lawrence-Curtiss affair. You've heard about it?" He was looking at me keenly. "Yes," I answered steadily, determined to keep him from guessing my connection with it; "I read about it in the papers last night. Queer affair, wasn't it?" "Mighty queer. You haven't happened to form a theory about it, have you?" I laughed outright. He had come to me for a theory once before, and here he was at his old trick. "I haven't enough data to form a theory," I said. "Well, maybe I can furnish you with more. I did some pretty lively work last night, and covered all the details I could think of." "I haven't seen this morning's _Record_," I said. "Of course it's all there."