wasn't this."

Sperry had a pocket flash, and when we found the door locked we
proceeded with our search for the key. The porch had been covered
with heavy vines, now dead of the November frosts, and showing,
here and there, dead and dried leaves that crackled as we touched
them. In the darkness something leaped against, me, and I almost
cried out. It was, however, only a collie dog, eager for the
warmth of his place by the kitchen fire.

"Here's the key," Sperry said, and held it out. The flash wavered
in his hand, and his voice was strained.

"So far, so good," I replied, and was conscious that my own voice
rang strange in my ears.

We admitted ourselves, and the dog, bounding past us, gave a sharp
yelp of gratitude and ran into the kitchen.

"Look here, Sperry," I said, as we stood inside the door, "they
don't want me here. They've sent for you, but I'm the most casual
sort of an acquaintance. I haven't any business here."

That struck him, too. We had both been so obsessed with the scene
at Mrs. Dane's that we had not thought of anything else.

"Suppose you sit down in the library," he said. "The chances are
against her coming down, and the servants don't matter."

As a matter of fact, we learned later that all the servants were