Miss Cornelia started.

“Just about ten-thirty Lizzie heard somebody cry out, in the grounds,” she said.

The detective looked Beresford over till the latter grew a little uncomfortable.

“I don’t suppose it has any bearing on the case,” admitted the latter uneasily.  “But it’s interesting.”

The detective seemed to agree.  At least he slipped the watch in his pocket.

“Do you always carry a flashlight, Mr. Beresford?” asked Miss Cornelia a trifle suspiciously.

“Always at night, in the car.”  His reply was prompt and certain.

“This is all you found?” queried the detective, a curious note in his voice.

“Yes.”  Beresford sat down, relieved.  Miss Cornelia followed his example.  Another clue had led into a blind alley, leaving the mystery of the night’s affairs as impenetrable as ever.

“Some day I hope to meet the real estate agent who promised me that I would sleep here as I never slept before!” she murmured acridly.  “He’s right!  I’ve slept with my clothes on every night since I came!”

As she ended, Billy darted in from the hall, his beady little black eyes gleaming with excitement, a long, wicked-looking butcher knife in his hand.

“Key, kitchen door, please!” he said, addressing his mistress.

“Key?” said Miss Cornelia, startled.  “What for?”

For once Billy’s polite little grin was absent from his countenance.

“Somebody outside trying to get in,” he chattered.  “I see knob turn, so,” he illustrated with the butcher knife, “and so—­three times.”

The detective’s hand went at once to his revolver.

“You’re sure of that, are you?” he said roughly to Billy.

“Sure, I sure!”

“Where’s that hysterical woman Lizzie?” queried Anderson.  “She may get a bullet in her if she’s not careful.”

“She see too.  She shut in closet—­say prayers, maybe,” said Billy, without a smile.

The picture was a ludicrous one but not one of the little group laughed.

“Doctor, have you a revolver?” Anderson seemed to be going over the possible means of defense against this new peril.

“No.”

“How about you, Beresford?”

Beresford hesitated.

“Yes,” he admitted finally.  “Always carry one at night in the country.”  The statement seemed reasonable enough but Miss Cornelia gave him a sharp glance of mistrust, nevertheless.

The detective seemed to have more confidence in the young idler.

“Beresford, will you go with this Jap to the kitchen?” as Billy, grimly clutching his butcher knife, retraced his steps toward the hall.  “If anyone’s working at the knob—­shoot through the door.  I’m going round to take a look outside.”

Beresford started to obey.  Then he paused.

“I advise you not to turn the doorknob yourself, then,” he said flippantly.