He quickly transferred it, locked the billiard room door from the outside, and pocketed the key.

For a second he stood by the center table in the living-room, recovering his breath and trying to straighten his rumpled clothing.

Then he crossed cautiously into the alcove and started to pad up the alcove stairs, his face white and strained with excitement and hope.
And it was then that there happened one of the most dramatic events of the night.

One which was to remain, for the next hour or so, as bewildering as the murder and which, had it come a few moments sooner or a few moments later, would have entirely changed the course of events.
It was preceded by a desperate hammering on the door of the terrace.

It halted the Doctor on his way upstairs, drew Beresford on a run into the living-room, and even reached the bedrooms of the women up above.
"My God! What's that ?" Beresford panted.
The Doctor indicated the door.