John Fletcher's desk among some other papers. Walter, swear on
your honour as a gentleman that this will was found in old
Fletcher's desk."

"Dr. Kennedy, how can I ever thank you?" she exclaimed, sinking
wearily down into a chair and pressing her hands to her throbbing
forehead.

"By telling me just how you came by this will, so that when you
and Fletcher are married I may be as good a friend, without
suspicion, to you as I am to him. I think a full confession would
do you good, Miss Bond. Would you prefer to have Dr. Jameson not
hear it?"

"No, he may stay."

"This much I know, Miss Bond. Last summer in Paris with the
Greenes you must have chanced to hear, of Pillard, the Apache,
one of the most noted cracksmen the world has ever produced. You
sought him out. He taught you how to paint your fingers with a
rubber composition, how to use an electric drill, how to use the
old-fashioned jimmy. You went down to Fletcherwood by the back
road about a quarter after eleven the night of the robbery in the
Greenes' little electric runabout. You entered the library by an
unlocked window, you coupled your drill to the electric light
connections of the chandelier. You had to work quickly, for the
power would go off at midnight, yet you could not do the job
later, when they were sleeping more soundly, for the very same
reason."