"Good," said Stockbridge reaching for the button with his toe. "Good! We'll take every precaution. Twelve hours will show the thing one way or the other. Twelve hours should do it." The butler entered bearing a silver tray. He set this on a mahogany tea-wagon and rolled it to the Magnate's chair. Drew frowned at the sight of a black bottle and one glass. A signal of understanding had been sent to the perfect servant. Stockbridge moistened his thin lips thirstily. He whispered the instructions concerning the blinds. The butler withdrew like a shadow merging into a shadow. Drew shrugged his shoulders and went the round of the library with the keen, trained scrutiny of a man-hunter and a modern operative. He paused before a case of morocco-bound books. "These cases?" he asked. "How about them? What's behind?" "Books! Books!" shrilled the magpie. Drew raised his brows and swung upon the bird. "Books! Books!" repeated the pet. "Books, books, books!" "Fine bird," said Drew with thought. "But what is behind the cases, Mr. Stockbridge? I don't want to move them if the walls are all right." A glass clicked against the silver tray as the Magnate answered hastily: "All right! They're all right. I was here when they were filled. I just ordered so many feet of books. Six hundred feet, I think it was. I never look at them. All that I ever read is the magazines and the financial items in the newspapers." "The pictures--paintings," Drew said. "Pictures! Pictures!" repeated the magpie. "Shut up!" snarled Stockbridge. "Keep quiet, Don!" The bird ruffled its feathers and leaped to a top perch. It peered from there at Drew, with its head cocked sideways. "How about them?" repeated the detective. "I had them hung by my orders," Stockbridge said. "They're all right. Nothing but a strong wall behind. No need to bother about them." "Everything is important," Drew suggested with a slight reproof in his voice. "Trifles may make for the answer to the riddle." "That Corot over there is no trifle. It cost me thirty-five thousand dollars in France!" Drew lifted the lower edge of the painting from the wall. Dust fell. He pressed his face against the paper and looked behind the canvas. Letting the frame back he tried the same operation with the other paintings of size. "No secret panel, or anything queer," he said finally as he dusted his hands. "All's well with the walls. Now the floor. How about trapdoors?" "Impossible!" Stockbridge exclaimed. "I'm sure these rugs have been taken out and cleaned every time I go to my country-place. A trapdoor would be noticed!" "I'm trying to find out," suggested Drew glancing from the bottle to the purple face of the Magnate. "Please answer me if you want to get results. I've got to see that no one comes into this library for the next twelve hours. After that period of time--we can breathe easier." "Go on," said Stockbridge feeling the thrust.