We slowly returned to the center of the room, no one speaking. The girl's story had added little, if anything, to our knowledge. So far as we could tell nothing in the room had been disturbed or even touched. As to gaining any knowledge which would aid us in solving the mystery of Warren's death, we were in the same position as before. I think the chief was thinking this, for I saw him glance slowly around the room and then shake his head. And then Ranville's voice broke the silence. “Miss Harlan, there is just one thing you might explain. You said that you were angry because Mr. Warren wished you to work until ten o'clock. Did you expect he was to be with you in the library?” “No,” was the reply. “In fact, I knew he would not have been. He had a dinner he was giving to three men. But there were notes which had to be typed. He would have corrected the manuscript the next morning. That's why I would have had to stay so late. He was in a hurry to finish the book, you know.” “Fine,” came the drawling voice of the Englishman. “And now did you ever hear some silly story about Mr. Warren having a box with the bone—excuse me—the ashes of Buddha in it?” The girl's eyes grew large as she gazed at Ranville. I could see that she thought he was joking, and at his next remark her eyes grew even larger as he asked: “And did any Chinaman come around here to see Mr. Warren?” She shook her head, saying she knew nothing of either a Chinaman or a box with ashes in it. It was clear she did not even understand what he was talking about, for she glanced at both the chief and Bartley as if asking for information. But instead of replying the chief reached into his pocket and came forth with a long envelope. Very slowly he opened it and brought forth a piece of paper. As I saw the torn sheet, I recognized it. It was the letter I had found on the desk. Approaching the girl and holding the letter where she could read it, he asked: “Did you ever see that?” She carefully read the few lines, and then shook her head. Bartley's hand went out for the sheet of paper and as he took it I told him where we had found it. He said nothing for a moment, then turned to the girl: “Did you open Mr. Warren's mail?” he asked. “As a rule I did. I never saw that letter. And I never heard anything about a Chinaman or any box of ashes of any kind.” As Bartley gazed at his watch he said that it was rather late, and that perhaps Ranville would be willing to drive the secretary home in our car. Ranville nodded his assent and said that he would come back for us, to which Bartley replied by saying that we could walk back to the house. As the Englishman and the girl started for the door Bartley, who was by the desk, bent forward to pick something from the floor. Then he called to the secretary. “Miss Harlan, who cleaned this room?” She had reached the door, but turned to answer him. “Why, Jimmy—the man who works around the grounds. He swept every morning before we came to work.”