"By golly, I don't know. That's a mighty pertinent question, Mr.

Krech. We'll get the answer when we get the crook, I expect. I'm not so fearfully surprised at getting back this notebook; did it ever strike you that there might be another explanation of its disappearance other than simple theft?"

"N-no. If there's another reason, I missed it."

"The dagger wasn't used to further the looting of Varr's desk. Just the contrary is the truth, I believe. The notebook was stolen to cover the theft of the dagger."

"Gee Joseph!" Krech whistled softly. "That checks up with the theory of an inside job! Creighton--_who_?"

"That's something I hope to find out pretty soon," replied the detective gravely. "Come on back to the house--and, listen! We lost sight of the monk. We hunted a while until you tripped and hurt your head, then we gave up the search and came home. Get it? Not another word!"

"Right," said the big man obediently.

There was no one on the veranda when they emerged from the woods. Two figures moved in the lamp-lit hall as they entered the house. Bates came up to greet them nervously, and young Merrill lurked in the offing looking curious.

"Is everything all right, sir?" asked the butler timidly.

"Perfectly all right. Where is Miss Copley?"

"Retired, sir. She left word for you that she would not be down again this evening."

The news that she had left a message for him was welcome. He had been troubled by the recollection of the cavalier fashion in which he had shaken off her hand on his arm, and he was uncomfortably certain that in his haste he had addressed her, as he thought of her, by her family nickname.

"Go tap on her door, please, Bates, and tell her that I am back with nothing to report. Wait--take Mr. Krech up with you and show him my room. He has a forehead he wants to bathe."

The butler went off, and Krech, after a mild protest, accompanied him.

Creighton, when they were out of sight, beckoned Merrill to follow and went swiftly into the living-room.

"Find out at once if any one has been absent from the house during the past hour. Let me know."

"Done it already, sir. Thought you'd want it. Only one person I haven't had my eye on."

"_Who?_"

"Janet Mackay, sir. She went to town immediately after dinner to a movie."

"_Janet Mackay_! There is only one motion-picture theater?"

"Yes, sir."

"Go there at once. Check up on her. She's a regular patron--the ticket-girl should be able to tell you if she's been there. When you come back, signal to me, yes or no. Understand? _Beat it_!"

When Krech came down again he found Creighton sitting on the veranda, smoking a cigar and apparently more in the mood to think than to talk.

It was nearly ten o'clock when a step sounded on the porch and Merrill sauntered into view.

"Pardon!" he said promptly, and vanished again.

But he had obeyed his instructions and sent Creighton a sign that started the detective's heart to thumping. Janet Mackay had not been to the theater. Here was a coil with collateral complications that were not pleasant to contemplate. His heart stopped thumping and made a dive for his boots as he wondered what Miss Ocky would say when she learned of his interest in Janet.

"I'm going to New York on the midnight," he said abruptly. "Will you run me to the station on your way home?"

"Sure. Unexpected, isn't it? What are you going for?"

"Mostly on account of this notebook." Creighton tapped the side-pocket of his coat in which he had placed his treasure, rewrapped and tied.

"It must go to the chap in Brooklyn who does my finger-print work, and I don't care to trust it to the mail. I've another reason for going which I don't propose to tell you."

"_Sus domesticus_!" cried Mr. Krech proudly, then obligingly translated for his astonished companion. "Pig!"

"Oh. Well, if you feel so deeply about it I suppose I might toss you a hint. I'm going to New York to give something a chance to happen that might not happen if I stayed here. I'll be back to-morrow evening, late--which reminds me that I'd better catch young Merrill and leave a message for Miss Ocky. Bates has probably gone to bed."

He spent the night at his apartment in the city and surprised his staff by entering his office the next morning at nine sharp--surprised them pleasantly, it may be added, for they had come to be loyal friends no less than faithful helpers. He exchanged cheerful greetings with a very pretty young woman who left her typewriter and accompanied him into his private room.

"Something didding, Rose, I do believe." He seated himself at his handsome, flat-top desk. "Send Jimmy here. Get Kitty Doyle on the wire, tell her to pack a bag and stand by the telephone in case I need her."

A minute later he was smiling at the homely face of Jimmy Horton, his chief of staff.

"Got that notebook, Jimmy!" He slapped the brown package on his desk.

"The story will have to wait. I want you to take this over to Martin yourself. Leave it there. Ask him to make every effort to bring out such prints as there may be on the covers. If he finds any, tell him to compare them with the a.s.sortment I sent him from Hambleton last week and see if any of them check. He is to telephone me his findings here, or wire them to me at Hambleton if I've gone back. Understand?"

"Perfectly. Does he mail you the book?"

"No. When he's through with it, you go back and get it. Be careful of it, Jimmy. If it comes to a choice of losing that book or losing your life, you hang on to the book."

"I get you!" grinned Jimmy. "Doesn't the recovery of this notebook technically end your commission? We're up to our ears in work here.

Why are you going back to Hambleton?"

"Because--because I darn well choose to!" Creighton writhed inwardly as he felt his cheeks growing hot. "On your way, young man--you ought to be under the East River by this time!"

Nevertheless, a certain compunction helped him to put the Varr case, and even Miss Ocky, out of his mind for the balance of the morning while he laboriously worked through an acc.u.mulation of other matters that had been waiting for his personal attention. At one o'clock he went to the bas.e.m.e.nt of the building for a hurried lunch in the rathskeller, leaving word of his whereabouts with Rose.

It was well that he did so. With the coffee came an extension telephone that was plugged in at his elbow, and a distant voice spoke clearly in his ear.

"Merrill speaking. I'm telephoning from the railroad station. You guessed right, sir. The woman has just left for New York. Seemed a bit low in her mind--been crying and was still sniffling. She's wearing a dark-gray cloth dress--black oxfords--small black hat with a green feather--black fur neck-piece--brown leather suit-case-- What's that, sir? No, sir!" Mr. Merrill's voice was gently reproachful.

"She's not wearing the suit-case; she's carrying it. Yes, sir. I thought she acted rather queer--nervous, unhappy and fidgety."

"And no doubt she is! Thank you, Merrill. Good work!"

Creighton hung up the receiver, shook his head at the waiter who came for the instrument, then called an uptown number. A woman's voice answered--bright, alert, faintly tinged with a soft brogue.

"Miss Doyle speaking."

"h.e.l.lo, Kitty! Did you pack that bag? Good. I want you to meet the train from Hambleton arriving four-thirty. Janet Mackay is on it. You can't miss her--listen!" He rattled off Merrill's description of the woman's dress. "Shadow her, Kitty; follow her to Kamchatka if you have to. Keep your eyes and ears open. Use your own judgment in regard to sc.r.a.ping up an acquaintance if an opportunity offers. She's dour, and probably a bit suspicious. I can give you one useful tip about her--she talks in her sleep. _Huh_! That will be all from you, Miss Doyle; it doesn't matter how I know. Wire me any news as you get it to Hambleton. Have you plenty of money?"

"Couple of hundred, I'll telegraph if I need more."

"Right. Whatever happens, Kitty--stay with her!"

"Like a Siamese twin," the bright voice a.s.sured him. "Is there anything special I'm to try and find out?"