"My first impulse was to do so," she answered promptly. "But on
leaving the library I passed the window, saw the policeman, and
called him in." She shot a keen look at the coroner, and added
softly, "The policeman was qualified to make an arrest; my father
would have had to summon one had he been there."

"Quite true," acknowledged Penfield courteously. "Now, Miss
McIntyre, why did the prisoner so obligingly walk straight into
a closet on your arrival in the library?"

"I presume he was looking for a way out of the room and blundered
into it," she explained. "There are seven doors opening from our
library; the prisoner may have heard me approaching, become confused,
and walked through the wrong door."

"That is quite plausible - with an ordinary bona-fide burglar,"
agreed Penfield. "But was not Mr. Turnbull acquainted with the
architectural arrangements of your house?"

"He was a frequent caller and an intimate friend," she said, with
dignity. "As to his power of observation and his bump of locality
I cannot say. The library was but dimly lighted."

"Miss McIntyre," Penfield spoke slowly. "Were you aware of the real
identity of the burglar?"

"I had no suspicion that he was not what he appeared," she responded.
"He said or did nothing after his arrest to give me the slightest
inkling of his identity."