Anderson Makes An Arrest
"Doctor, why did you put out that candle?" Miss Cornelia's voice cut the blackness like a
"I didn't - I - "
"You did - I saw you do it."
The brief exchange of accusation and denial took but an instant of time, as the mantel
swung wide open. The next instant there was a rush of feet across the floor, from the
fireplace - the shock of a collision between two bodies - the sound of a heavy fall.
"What was that?" queried Bailey dazedly, with a feeling as if some great winged creature
had brushed at him and passed.
Lizzie answered from the doorway.
"Oh, oh!" she groaned in stricken accents. "Somebody knocked me down and tramped on
"Matches, quick!" commanded Miss Cornelia. "Where's the candle?"
The Doctor was still trying to explain his curious action of a moment before.
"Awfully sorry, I assure you - it dropped out of the holder - ah, here it is!"
He held it up triumphantly. Bailey struck a match and lighted it. The wavering little flame
showed Lizzie prostrate but vocal, in the doorway - and Dale lying on the floor of the
Hidden Room, her eyes shut, and her face as drained of color as the face of a marble
statue. For one horrible instant Bailey thought she must be dead.
He rushed to her wildly and picked her up in his arms. No - still breathing - thank God!
He carried her tenderly to the only chair in the room.
The Doctor, once more the physician, knelt at her side and felt for her pulse. And Lizzie,
picking herself up from where the collision with some violent body had thrown her,
retrieved the smelling salts from the floor. It was onto this picture, the candlelight shining
on strained faces, the dramatic figure of Dale, now semi-conscious, the desperate rage of
Bailey, that a new actor appeared on the scene.
Anderson, the detective, stood in the doorway, holding a candle - as grim and menacing a
figure as a man just arisen from the dead.