the faint yellow light that came through the ragged opening in
the wall. Then he came back and called through to us.

"Place is locked, over here," he said. "Heavy oak door at the
head of the steps. Whoever made that opening has done a
prodigious amount of labor for nothing."

The weapon, a crowbar, lay on the ground beside the bricks, and
he picked it up and balanced it on his hand. Dallas' florid face
was almost comical in his bewilderment; as for Jimmy--he slammed
a piece of slag at the furnace and walked away. At the door he
turned around.

"Why don't you accuse me of it?" he asked bitterly. "Maybe you
could find a lump of coal in my pockets if you searched me."

He stalked up the stairs then and left us. Dallas and I went up
together, but we did not talk. There seemed to be nothing to say.
Not until I had closed and locked the door of my room did I
venture to look at something that I carried in the palm of my
hand. It was a watch, not running--a gentleman's flat gold watch,
and it had been hanging by its fob to a nail in the bricks beside
the aperture.

In the back of the watch were the initials, T.H.H. and the
picture of a girl, cut from a newspaper.

It was my picture.