"I do," said Brooks decidedly. "I don't think Fleming took it away
with him. He was too shrewd for that. No, he meant to come back all
right, the minute he got the word the bank had been looted. And he'd
fixed things so I'd be railroaded to prison--you wouldn't understand,
but it was pretty neat. And then the fool nephew rents this house
the minute he's dead, and whoever knows about the money--"

"Jack! Why isn't it the nephew who is trying to break in?"

"He wouldn't have to break in. He could make an excuse and come in
any time."

He clenched his hands despairingly.

"If I could only get hold of a blue-print of this place!" he muttered.

Dale's face fell. It was sickening to be so close to the secret--
and yet not find it. "Oh, Jack, I'm so confused and worried!" she
confessed, with a little sob.

Brooks put his hands on her shoulders in an effort to cheer her
spirits.

"Now listen, dear," he said firmly, "this isn't as hard as it sounds.
I've got a clear night to work in--and as true as I'm standing here,
that money's in this house. Listen, honey--it's like this." He
pantomimed the old nursery rhyme of The House that Jack Built,
"Here's the house that Courtleigh Fleming built--here, somewhere,
is the Hidden Room in the house that Courtleigh Fleming built--and
here--somewhere--pray Heaven--is the money--in the Hidden Room