subjected it to a thorough and minute examination. That the result was
not entirely unsatisfactory was evident from the smile with which he
eyed his finger after having drawn it across a certain spot near the
inkstand, and also from the care with which he lifted that inkstand and
replaced it in precisely the same spot from which he had taken it up.
Had he expected to find something concealed under it? Who can tell? A
detective's face seldom yields up its secrets.

He was musing quite intently before this table when a quick step behind
him made him turn. Styles, the officer, having now been over the house,
had returned, and was standing before him in the attitude of one who has
something to say.

"What is it?" asked Mr. Gryce, with a quick movement in his direction.

For answer the officer pointed to the staircase visible through the
antechamber door.

"Go up!" was indicated by his gesture.

Mr. Gryce demurred, casting a glance around the room, which at that
moment interested him so deeply. At this the man showed some excitement,
and, breaking silence, said:

"Come! I have lighted on the guilty party. He is in a room upstairs."

"He?" Mr. Gryce was evidently surprised at the pronoun.

"Yes; there can be no doubt about it. When you see him--but what is
that? Is he coming down? I'm sure there's nobody else in the house.