So Richard Fleming left the room where he had been struck down so suddenly and strangely—borne out by Beresford, the Doctor, and Jack Bailey. The little procession moved as swiftly and softly as circumstances would permit—Anderson followed its passage with watchful eyes. Billy went mechanically to pick up the stained rug which the detective had kicked aside and carried it off after the body. When the burden and its bearers, with Anderson in the rear, reached the doorway into the hall, Lizzie shrank before the sight, affrighted, and turned toward the alcove while Miss Cornelia stared unseeingly out toward the front windows. So, for perhaps a dozen ticks of time Dale was left unwatched—and she made the most of her opportunity. Her fingers fumbled at the bosom of her dress—she took out the precious, dangerous fragment of blue-print that Anderson must not find in her possession—but where to hide it, before her chance had passed? Her eyes fell on the bread roll that had fallen from the detective’s supper tray to the floor when Lizzie had seen the gleaming eye on the stairs and had lain there unnoticed ever since. She bent over swiftly and secreted the tantalizing scrap of blue paper in the body of the roll, smoothing the crust back above it with trembling fingers. Then she replaced the roll where it had fallen originally and straightened up just as Billy and the detective returned. Billy went immediately to the tray, picked it up, and started to go out again. Then he noticed the roll on the floor, stooped for it, and replaced it upon the tray. He looked at Miss Cornelia for instructions. “Take that tray out to the dining-room,” she said mechanically. But Anderson’s attention had already been drawn to the tiny incident. “Wait—I’ll look at that tray,” he said briskly. Dale, her heart in her mouth, watched him examine the knives, the plates, even shake out the napkin to see that nothing was hidden in its folds. At last he seemed satisfied. “All right—take it away,” he commanded. Billy nodded and vanished toward the dining-room with tray and roll. Dale breathed again. The sight of the tray had made Miss Cornelia’s thoughts return to practical affairs. “Lizzie,” she commanded now, “go out in the kitchen and make some coffee. I’m sure we all need it,” she sighed. Lizzie bristled at once. “Go out in that kitchen alone?” “Billy’s there,” said Miss Cornelia wearily. The thought of Billy seemed to bring little solace to Lizzie’s heart. “That Jap and his jooy-jitsu,” she muttered viciously. “One twist and I’d be folded up like a pretzel.” But Miss Cornelia’s manner was imperative, and Lizzie slowly dragged herself kitchenward, yawning and promising the saints repentance of every sin she had or had not committed if she were allowed to get there without something grabbing at her ankles in the dark corner of the hall.