“Oh, call the detective!” she stammered, on the verge of hysterical tears. “Let’s get through with this thing! I can’t bear any more!” But Miss Cornelia did not even hear her. Her mind, strung now to concert pitch, had harked back to the point it had reached some time ago, and which all the recent distractions had momentarily obliterated. Had the money been taken out of the house or had it not? In that mad rush for escape had the man hidden with Dale in the recess back of the mantel carried his booty with him, or left it behind? It was not in the Hidden Room, that was certain. Yet she was so hopeless by that time that her first search was purely perfunctory. During her progress about the room the Unknown’s eyes followed her, but so still had he sat, so amazing had been the discovery of the body, that no one any longer observed him. Now and then his head drooped forward as if actual weakness was almost overpowering him, but his eyes were keen and observant, and he was no longer taking the trouble to act—if he had been acting. It was when Bailey finally opened the lid of a clothes hamper that they stumbled on their first clue. “Nothing here but some clothes and books,” he said, glancing inside. “Books?” said Miss Cornelia dubiously. “I left no books in that hamper.” Bailey picked up one of the cheap paper novels and read its title aloud, with a wry smile. “_Little Rosebud’s Lover, Or The Cruel Revenge_, by Laura Jean—” “That’s mine!” said Lizzie promptly. “Oh, Miss Neily, I tell you this house is haunted. I left that book in my satchel along with _Wedded But No Wife_ and now—” “Where’s your satchel?” snapped Miss Cornelia, her eyes gleaming. “Where’s my satchel?” mumbled Lizzie, staring about as best she could. “I don’t see it. If that wretch has stolen my satchel—!” “Where did you leave it?” “Up here. Right in this room. It was a new satchel too. I’ll have the law on him, that’s what I’ll do.” “Isn’t that your satchel, Lizzie?” asked Miss Cornelia, indicating a battered bag in a dark corner of shadows above the window. “Yes’m,” she admitted. But she did not dare approach very close to the recovered bag. It might bite her! “Put it there on the hamper,” ordered Miss Cornelia. “I’m scared to touch it!” moaned Lizzie. “It may have a bomb in it!” She took up the bag between finger and thumb and, holding it with the care she would have bestowed upon a bottle of nitroglycerin, carried it over to the hamper and set it down. Then she backed away from it, ready to leap for the door at a moment’s warning. Miss Cornelia started for the satchel. Then she remembered. She turned to Bailey. “You open it,” she said graciously. “If the money’s there—you’re the one who ought to find it.” Bailey gave her a look of gratitude. Then, smiling at Dale encouragingly, he crossed over to the satchel, Dale at his heels. Miss Cornelia watched him fumble at the catch of the bag—even Lizzie drew closer. For a moment even the Unknown was forgotten.