"Well," said Peter, eyeing his partner meditatively, "you mustn't forget that the only person seen to leave the apartment took with her a big trunk. That the large sum at the bank could be drawn out by Anne as well as by Mary--that, apparently, only Anne's clothes are gone--oh--and all the rest of it. We've only solved the one problem, that is, as to why there was blood in several places in the apartment and why the rooms were all upset." "Do you believe Angelo's story, Pete?" asked O'Malley, earnestly. "I do." The answer was sharp and to the point. "I think even an old hand like you, O'Malley, would have been convinced. I think you may take it for granted that the only blood spilled was Angelo's.... Now, where do you go from there?" "Are you kidding me, Pete?" asked O'Malley, with a little twinkle in his sharp old eyes. "Are you trying to draw me so as to get the laugh on the old man? Have you got something new, boy?" eagerly. "You have, I can see it in your eye! What is it, Pete? What----" "Oh, lord!" After a hasty glance at his watch Peter had jumped to his feet. "I've got to clear out this minute, O'Malley," he said. "I've just time to get my ticket and catch the train. Send up a prayer that I'll get a night's rest on the train, if you think you have any pull up above, for I need it, old top. Yes, I was kidding you." He laid his hand on the old man's broad shoulder. "I've got something, and I think it's good, but I can't tell you till I'm sure. It may be a pipe dream, after all. And, anyway, I can't stop now. Good-bye, old scout. Wish me luck." "Good-bye and good luck, Pete," said O'Malley, gravely, as their hands met. "I'll be thinking about you, boy. Good-bye." He turned back when Peter, in his tumultuous exit, slammed the door. "Youth," he said, shaking his gray head. "Youth and courage--and brains--brains!" * * * * * A day and a night and almost another day passed uneventfully for Captain O'Malley. For Peter the time was marked only by the click and rumble of swiftly moving wheels, the roaring and shrieking of the train; a few hours' respite in Chicago, and then on again, more slowly and with lessened comfort, in the dingy, red plush-covered seat of a day coach, counting the little stations as they passed--and, at last--Cordenham. At the tiny way-station he alighted from the train and proceeded to make his inquiries. "Oh, yes. You can find it easy enough," said the old expressman in answer to Peter's question, eyeing him a trifle curiously, Peter thought. "It's about half a mile straight down the road. You'll know it by the high wall all 'round the place. The old Mayhew place, we calls it. It was a crank of an Englishman that built it. He died a spell ago. But you'll know it by the stone wall. You can't miss it. It's only about half a mile, and ask for the Mayhew place. Anybody can tell you."