“Never mind that now, Zizi,” Wise spoke from deep preoccupation. “We have till Friday night to decide about it. Today is only Wednesday. What I hope to get at from this note is the identity of the kidnapper. I am sure it is the same man as the one who wrote that blackmail letter.” “This is typewritten,” Granniss said, studying the letter. “And not signed in any way. I’ve heard, though, that typewriting is as easily distinguished or recognized as penwriting.” “That’s true in a sense,” Wise told him. “I mean, if you suspect a certain person or machine, you can check up the peculiarities of the script, and prove the typing. But in this case, the letter was doubtless written on some public machine,—say in a hotel or business office, and even if found, would give no clue to the writer. We have to do with the cleverest mind I have ever been up against. That is positive. Now the reason I connect the kidnapper and the blackmailer is twofold. First, if this man’s blackmailing scheme proved unsuccessful, he may have struck at his victim in this more desperate way. And, second, there is a resemblance in the diction of the notes from the kidnappers and the note of blackmail intent, signed ‘Step’.” “What do you suppose ‘Step’ means?” Granniss asked. “Short for Stephen, I daresay,” replied Wise. “There’s no other name that begins,—oh, yes, there is Stepney,—but it doesn’t matter. ‘Step’ is our man,—of that I’m sure. But how to find such an elusive individual is a puzzling problem.” “Then you believe there’s a secret passage?” Granniss said. “There simply has to be. It may be a hidden one,—or it may be a false doorway or window frame, but there is most certainly a way for that villain to get in and out of this house at will. Now that way must be found, and at once or I give up my profession and make no further claim to detective ability!” “We’ll find it, Penny,” Zizi promised him. “Find it, if you have to tear down the whole house,” Minna exclaimed, excitedly. She was nervously caressing the note from Betty, and was ready to further any project that was suggested. “You don’t own the house?” Wise asked. “No; but I’ll buy it. It’s in the market, and the price is not so very high. Then you can tear it down, if you wish, and I can sell the ground afterward.” “Good business deal!” Granniss said. “I’d like nothing better than to drive a pick into these old walls.” “But there’s no place to drive, with any expectation of success,” Wise demurred. “Where’s your friend North? Isn’t he an architect? Can you get him up here?” “Surely,” Rod said, “I’ll telephone him, if you say so. I’m sure he’ll be glad to come. He isn’t a professional architect, but he knows more about building plans than many a firm of contractors does.” “Call him, then, please, when you’ve finished your breakfast,” Wise directed, and returned to his study of the letter. “I can’t understand it at all,” he groaned to Zizi, after breakfast was over.