house was Mr. Turnbull in disguise.

Barbara McIntyre released her grasp of her sister's arm and
collapsed on a chair. Stone, still supporting Helen, felt her
muscles grow taut and an instant later she stepped back from his
side and stood by her sister. As the two girls faced the circle
of men, the likeness between them was extraordinary. Each had
the same slight graceful figure, equal height; and feature for
feature, coloring matching coloring, they were identical; their
gowns, even, were cut on similar lines, only their hats varied in
shape and color.

"Do I understand, gentlemen," Helen began, and her voice gained
steadiness as she proceeded, "that the burglar whom Officer O'Ryan
and I caught lurking in our house was James Turnbull?"

"He was," answered Ferguson, and Stone, as the twins looked dumbly
at him, confirmed the detective's statement with a brief, "Yes."

The silence that ensued was broken by Barbara rising to her feet.

"Jimmie won his wager," she announced. Her gaze did not waver
before the concentrated regard of the men facing her. "He broke
into our house - but, oh, how can I pay my debt to him now that
he is dead!"

"Hush!" Helen laid a cautioning hand on her sister's arm as the
latter's voice gained in shrillness, the shrillness of approaching
hysteria.