"When I get into bed in this house I wouldn't put my feet out for
a million dollars!" she said with heartfelt candor. Even Anderson
was compelled to grin at this.

"Then I won't ask you to," he said, relaxing considerably; "That's
more money than I'm worth, Lizzie."

"Well, I'll say it is!" quoth Lizzie, now thoroughly aroused, and
flounced out of the room in high dudgeon, her pompadour bristling,
before he had time to interrogate her further.

He replaced the note on the table and turned back to Miss Cornelia.
If he had found any clue to the mystery in Lizzie's demeanor, she
could not read it in his manner.

"Now, what about the butler?" he said.

"Nothing about him--except that he was Courtleigh Fleming's servant."

Anderson paused. "Do you consider that significant?"

A shadow appeared behind him deep in the alcove--a vague,
listening figure--Dale--on tiptoe, conspiratorial, taking pains
not to draw the attention of the others to her presence. But both
Miss Cornelia and Anderson were too engrossed in their conversation
to notice her.

Miss Cornelia hesitated.