It so happened that, at that moment, Mansus had called from upstairs, and the officer, who had been told off to keep the valet under observation, ran up in answer to the summons. For a moment Fisher hesitated, then hatless and coatless as he was, he crept to the door, opened it, leaving it ajar behind him and darting down the steps, ran like a hare from the house. The doctor, who came a little later, was cautious as to the hour of death. “If you got your telephone message at 10.25, as you say, that was probably the hour he was killed,” he said. “I could not tell within half an hour. Obviously the man who killed him gripped his throat with his left hand--there are the bruises on his neck--and stabbed him with the right.” It was at this time that the disappearance of Fisher was noticed, but the cross-examination of the terrified Mrs. Beale removed any doubt that T. X. had as to the man's guilt. “You had better send out an 'All Stations' message and pull him in,” said T. X. “He was with the cook from the moment the visitor left until a few minutes before we rang. Besides which it is obviously impossible for anybody to have got into this room or out again. Have you searched the dead man?” Mansus produced a tray on which Kara's belongings had been disposed. The ordinary keys Mrs. Beale was able to identify. There were one or two which were beyond her. T. X. recognised one of these as the key of the safe, but two smaller keys baffled him not a little, and Mrs. Beale was at first unable to assist him. “The only thing I can think of, sir,” she said, “is the wine cellar.” “The wine cellar?” said T. X. slowly. “That must be--” he stopped. The greater tragedy of the evening, with all its mystifying aspects had not banished from his mind the thought of the girl--that Belinda Mary, who had called upon him in her hour of danger as he divined. Perhaps--he descended into the kitchen and was brought face to face with the unpainted door. “It looks more like a prison than a wine cellar,” he said. “That's what I've always thought, sir,” said Mrs. Beale, “and sometimes I've had a horrible feeling of fear.” He cut short her loquacity by inserting one of the keys in the lock--it did not turn, but he had more success with the second. The lock snapped back easily and he pulled the door back. He found the inner door bolted top and bottom. The bolts slipped back in their well-oiled sockets without any effort. Evidently Kara used this place pretty frequently, thought T. X. He pushed the door open and stopped with an exclamation of surprise. The cellar apartment was brilliantly lit--but it was unoccupied. “This beats the band,” said T. X.