The knowledge that he had an ally in this brisk and indomitable spinster lady cheered him greatly. But she did not wait for any comment from him. She turned abruptly to Dale. “Now I want to ask _you_ something,” she said more gravely. “Was there a blue-print, and did you get it from Richard Fleming?” It was Dale’s turn now to bow her head. “Yes,” she confessed. Bailey felt a thrill of horror run through him. She hadn’t told him this! “Dale!” he said uncomprehendingly, “don’t you see where this places you? If you had it, why didn’t you give it to Anderson when he asked for it?” “Because,” said Miss Cornelia uncompromisingly, “she had sense enough to see that Mr. Anderson considered that piece of paper the final link in the evidence against _her!_” “But she could have no _motive!_” stammered Bailey, distraught, still failing to grasp the significance of Dale’s refusal. “Couldn’t she?” queried Miss Cornelia pityingly. “The detective thinks she could—to save you!” Now the full light of revelation broke upon Bailey. He took a step back. “Good God!” he said. Miss Cornelia would have liked to comment tartly upon the singular lack of intelligence displayed by even the nicest young men in trying circumstances. But there was no time. They might be interrupted at any moment and before they were, there were things she must find out. “Where is that paper, now?” she asked Dale sharply; “Why—the Doctor is getting it for me.” Dale seemed puzzled by the intensity of her aunt’s manner. “_What?_” almost shouted Miss Cornelia. Dale explained. “It was on the tray Billy took out,” she said, still wondering why so simple an answer should disturb Miss Cornelia so greatly. “Then I’m afraid everything’s over,” Miss Cornelia said despairingly, and made her first gesture of defeat. She turned away. Dale followed her, still unable to fathom her course of reasoning. “I didn’t know what else to do,” she said rather plaintively, wondering if again, as with Fleming, she had misplaced her confidence at a moment critical for them all. But Miss Cornelia seemed to have no great patience with her dejection. “One of two things will happen now,” she said, with acrid, logic. “Either the Doctor’s an honest man—in which case, as coroner, he will hand that paper to the detective—” Dale gasped. “Or he is _not_ an honest man,” went on Miss Cornelia, “and he will keep it for himself. _I_ don’t think he’s an honest man.” The frank expression of her distrust seemed to calm her a little. She resumed her interrogation of Dale more gently. “Now, let’s be clear about this. Had Richard Fleming ascertained that there was a concealed room in this house?” “He was starting up to it!” said Dale in the voice of a ghost, remembering. “Just what did you tell him?” “That I believed there was a Hidden Room in the house—and that the money from the Union Bank might be in it.” Again, for the millionth time, indeed it seemed to her, she reviewed the circumstances of the crime.