It was true. The room in which she stood, while comfortable and
charming, seemed unusually accessible to the night prowler. A row
of French windows at the rear gave upon a little terrace; below
the terrace, the drive curved about and beneath the billiard-room
windows in a hairpin loop, drawing up again at the main entrance
on the other side of the house. At the left of the French windows
(if one faced the terrace as Miss Cornelia was doing) was the
alcove door of which she spoke. When open, it disclosed a little
alcove, almost entirely devoted to the foot of a flight of stairs
that gave direct access to the upper regions of the house. The
alcove itself opened on one side upon the terrace and upon the
other into a large butler's pantry. The arrangement was obviously
designed so that, if necessary, one could pass directly from the
terrace to the downstairs service quarters or the second floor of
the house without going through the living-room, and so that trays
could be carried up from the pantry by the side stairs without
using the main staircase.

The middle pair of French windows were open, forming a double
door. Miss Cornelia went over to them--shut them--tried the
locks. Humph! Flimsy enough! she thought. Then she turned toward
the billiard room.

The billiard room, as has been said, was the last room to the right
in the main wing of the house. A single door led to it from the
living-room. Miss Cornelia passed through this door, glanced about
the billiard room, noting that most of its windows were too high
from the ground to greatly encourage a marauder. She locked the
only one that seemed to her particularly tempting--the billiard-room
window on the terrace side of the house. Then she returned to the