She took a wild step in the direction of the door. Then the flapping noise was all about her, her nose was bumped by an invisible object and she gave a horrified shriek. “It’s in my hair!” she screamed madly. “It’s in my hair!” The next instant Bailey gave a triumphant cry. “I’ve got it! It’s a bat!” Lizzie sank to her knees, still moaning, and Bailey carried the cause of the trouble over to the window and threw it out. But the result of the absurd incident was a further destruction of their morale. Even Beresford, so far calm with the quiet of the virtuous onlooker, was now pallid in the light of the matches they successively lighted. And onto this strained situation came at last Billy and the Unknown. The Unknown still wore his air of dazed bewilderment, true or feigned, but at least he was now able to walk without support. They stared at him, at his tattered, muddy garments, at the threads of rope still clinging to his ankles—and wondered. He returned their stares vacantly. “Come in,” began Miss Cornelia. “Sit down.” He obeyed both commands docilely enough. “Are you better now?” “Somewhat.” His words still came very slowly. “Billy—you can go.” “I stay, please!” said Billy wistfully, making no movement to leave. His gesture toward the darkness of the corridor spoke louder than words. Bailey watched him, suspicion dawning in his eyes. He could not account for the butler’s inexplicable terror of being left alone. “Anderson intimated that the Doctor had an accomplice in this house,” he said, crossing to Billy and taking him by the arm. “Why isn’t this the man?” Billy cringed away. “Please, no,” he begged pitifully. Bailey turned him around so that he faced the Hidden Room. “Did you know that room was there?” he questioned, his doubts still unquieted. Billy shook his head. “No.” “He couldn’t have locked us in,” said Miss Cornelia. “He was _with_ us.” Bailey demurred, not to her remark itself, but to its implication of Billy’s entire innocence. “He may _know_ who did it. Do you?” Billy still shook his head. Bailey remained unconvinced. “Who did you see at the head of the small staircase?” he queried imperatively. “Now we’re through with nonsense; I want the truth!” Billy shivered. “See face—that’s all,” he brought out at last. “_Whose_ face?” Again it was evident that Billy knew or thought he knew more than he was willing to tell. “Don’t know,” he said with obvious untruth, looking down at the floor. “Never mind, Billy,” cut in Miss Cornelia. To her mind questioning Billy was wasting time. She looked at the Unknown. “Solve the mystery of _this_ man and we may get at the facts,” she said in accents of conviction.