I was roused by hearing Mr. Jamieson coming rapidly back through the

drawing-room. He stopped at the door.

"Miss Innes," he said quickly, "will you come with me and light the

east corridor? I have fastened somebody in the small room at the head

of the card-room stairs."

I jumped! up at once.

"You mean--the murderer?" I gasped.

"Possibly," he said quietly, as we hurried together up the stairs.

"Some one was lurking on the staircase when I went back. I spoke;

instead of an answer, whoever it was turned and ran up. I followed--it

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was dark--but as I turned the corner at the top a figure darted through

this door and closed it. The bolt was on my side, and I pushed it

forward. It is a closet, I think." We were in the upper hall now.

"If you will show me the electric switch, Miss Innes, you would better

wait in your own room."

Trembling as I was, I was determined to see that door opened. I hardly

knew what I feared, but so many terrible and inexplicable things had

happened that suspense was worse than certainty.

"I am perfectly cool," I said, "and I am going to remain here."

The lights flashed up along that end of the corridor, throwing the

doors into relief. At the intersection of the small hallway with the

larger, the circular staircase wound its way up, as if it had been an

afterthought of the architect. And just around the corner, in the

small corridor, was the door Mr. Jamieson had indicated. I was still

unfamiliar with the house, and I did not remember the door. My heart

was thumping wildly in my ears, but I nodded to him to go ahead. I was

perhaps eight or ten feet away--and then he threw the bolt back.

"Come out," he said quietly. There was no response. "Come--out," he

repeated. Then--I think he had a revolver, but I am not sure--he

stepped aside and threw the door open.

From where I stood I could not see beyond the door, but I saw Mr.

Jamieson's face change and heard him mutter something, then he bolted

down the stairs, three at a time. When my knees had stopped shaking, I

moved forward, slowly, nervously, until I had a partial view of what

was beyond the door. It seemed at first to be a closet, empty. Then I

went close and examined it, to stop with a shudder. Where the floor

should have been was black void and darkness, from which came the

indescribable, damp smell of the cellars.

Mr. Jamieson had locked somebody in the clothes chute. As I leaned

over I fancied I heard a groan--or was it the wind?




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