“Our Chinese gentleman must have come here more to see if we had any suspicions of him than anything else. He had his nerve at that. He must have known Carter is with the secret service, and that I am in the same line myself. He was fishing for information.” Bartley nodded, agreeing: “You are right. But at the same time I have an idea that he came for another reason also. It was information he wanted, but information of another type, perhaps.” As we both looked at him in surprise, he went on: “There seems little doubt the story he told you regarding having an appointment with Mr. Warren and about the ashes of Buddha were lies. But I am half believing he did tell you the truth when he said he found Mr. Warren dead. What he came to see you about was something else. He knew that his appearance would be spoken about. What he wanted to discover from you was if you had found out the real object of his visit to the library. And that means—” “And that means,” broke in Ranville, “the quicker we get over to the library and take a look at that box the better.” Bartley agreed to this and, asking me to get the car, started up the stairs to his room saying there were several small things he wished to take with him. By the time I had driven the car from the garage to the side of the house Bartley and Ranville were ready and jumped in by my side. We said nothing on our ride. It was after twelve, a warm summer evening with just enough moon to make the driving good. I drove at a rather high speed, for the streets were empty, and only a few lights were to be seen at the windows of the houses we passed. By the high wall which ran around the Warren grounds I parked the car, and we climbed out. The tall iron gate was closed, though not locked. As we came up the path, the dark mass of the house loomed up before us, silent and without a light. The path through the trees had a silver streak of moonlight running down its center. When we came to the hill upon which stood the eight-sided library, I was surprised to find that the building was dark. I whispered to Bartley that I thought the chief had said he had left a policeman on guard, only to have Bartley answer that the chief had decided it was no longer necessary. The door of the library was locked, but Bartley produced from his pocket a little steel instrument, and with the ray from the flashlight on the lock quickly opened it. We slid into the dark room, closing the door behind us. Bartley turned on the light, and we gave one hurried look around the room.