"It's upstairs!" Dale took a step toward the alcove stairs. Brooks halted her.
"Who's in this house besides ourselves?" he queried.
"Only the detective, Aunt Cornelia, Lizzie, and Billy."
"Billy's the Jap?"
"Yes."
Brooks paused an instant. "Does he belong to your aunt?"
"No. He was Courtleigh Fleming's butler."
Knock--knock--knock--knock the dull, methodical rapping on the ceiling of the living-room began again.
"Courtleigh Fleming's butler, eh?" muttered Brooks. He put down his candle and stole noiselessly into the alcove. "It may be the Jap!" he whispered.
Knock--knock--knock--knock! This time the mysterious rapping seemed to come from the upper hall.
"If it is the Jap, I'll get him!" Brooks's voice was tense with resolution. He hesitated--made for the hall door--tiptoed out into the darkness around the main staircase, leaving Dale alone in the living-room beset by shadowy terrors.
Utter silence succeeded his noiseless departure. Even the storm lulled for a moment. Dale stood thinking, wondering, searching desperately for some way to help her lover.
At last a resolution formed in her mind. She went to the city telephone.
"Hello," she said in a low voice, glancing over her shoulder now and then to make sure she was not overheard. "1-2-4--please--yes, that's right. Hello--is that the country club? Is Mr. Richard Fleming there? Yes, I'll hold the wire."
She looked about nervously. Had something moved in that corner of blackness where her candle did not pierce? No! How silly of her!
Buzz-buzz on the telephone. She picked up the receiver again.
"Hello--is this Mr. Fleming? This is Miss Ogden--Dale Ogden. I know it must seem odd my calling you this late, but--I wonder if you could come over here for a few minutes. Yes--tonight." Her voice grew stronger. "I wouldn't trouble you but--it's awfully important. Hold the wire a moment." She put down the phone and made another swift survey of the room, listened furtively at the door--all clear! She returned to the phone.
"Hello--Mr. Fleming--I'll wait outside the house on the drive. It--it's a confidential matter. Thank you so much."
She hung up the phone, relieved--not an instant too soon, for, as she crossed toward the fireplace to add a new log to the dying glow of the fire, the hall door opened and Anderson, the detective, came softly in with an unlighted candle in his hand.
Her composure almost deserted her. How much had he heard? What deduction would he draw if he had heard? An assignation, perhaps! Well, she could stand that; she could stand anything to secure the next few hours of liberty for Jack. For that length of time she and the law were at war; she and this man were at war.