"How did he get into the house ?" Dale brightened--no need for a lie here.
"He had a key." "Key to what door ?" "That door over there." Dale indicated the terrace door of the alcove.
The detective was about to ask another question--then he paused.

Miss Cornelia was talking on the phone.
"Hello--is that Mr.Johnson's residence?
Is Doctor Wells there?
No ?" Her expression was puzzled.

"Oh--all right--thank you--good night--" Meanwhile Anderson had been listening--but thinking as well.

Dale saw his sharp glance travel over to the fireplace--rest for a moment, with an air of discovery, on the fragments of the roll of blue-prints that remained unburned among ashes--return.

She shut her eyes for a moment, trying tensely to summon every atom of shrewdness she possessed to aid her.
He was hammering at her with questions again.