Anderson looked at him meaningly.

“Scraps of paper are sometimes very important,” said with a side glance at Dale.

Beresford approached the two angrily.

“Look here!” he burst out, “I’ve got a right to know about this thing.  I brought Fleming over here—­and I want to know what happened to him!”

“You don’t have to be a mind reader to know that!” moaned Lizzie, overcome.

As usual, her comment went unanswered.  Beresford persisted in his questions.

“Who killed him?  That’s what I want to know!” he continued, nervously puffing his cigarette.

“Well, you’re not alone in that,” said Anderson in his grimly humorous vein.

The Doctor motioned nervously to them both.

“As the coroner—­if Mr. Anderson is satisfied—­I suggest that the body be taken where I can make a thorough examination,” he said haltingly.

Once more Anderson bent over the shell that had been Richard Fleming.  He turned the body half-over—­let it sink back on its face.  For a moment he glanced at the corner of the blue-print in his hand, then at the Doctor.  Then he stood aside.

“All right,” he said laconically.

So Richard Fleming left the room where he had been struck down so suddenly and strangely—­borne out by Beresford, the Doctor, and Jack Bailey.  The little procession moved as swiftly and softly as circumstances would permit—­Anderson followed its passage with watchful eyes.  Billy went mechanically to pick up the stained rug which the detective had kicked aside and carried it off after the body.  When the burden and its bearers, with Anderson in the rear, reached the doorway into the hall, Lizzie shrank before the sight, affrighted, and turned toward the alcove while Miss Cornelia stared unseeingly out toward the front windows.  So, for perhaps a dozen ticks of time Dale was left unwatched—­and she made the most of her opportunity.

Her fingers fumbled at the bosom of her dress—­she took out the precious, dangerous fragment of blue-print that Anderson must not find in her possession—­but where to hide it, before her chance had passed?  Her eyes fell on the bread roll that had fallen from the detective’s supper tray to the floor when Lizzie had seen the gleaming eye on the stairs and had lain there unnoticed ever since.  She bent over swiftly and secreted the tantalizing scrap of blue paper in the body of the roll, smoothing the crust back above it with trembling fingers.  Then she replaced the roll where it had fallen originally and straightened up just as Billy and the detective returned.

Billy went immediately to the tray, picked it up, and started to go out again.  Then he noticed the roll on the floor, stooped for it, and replaced it upon the tray.  He looked at Miss Cornelia for instructions.

“Take that tray out to the dining-room,” she said mechanically.  But Anderson’s attention had already been drawn to the tiny incident.