THE HIDDEN ROOM A few moments later Jack Bailey, seeing a thin glow of candlelight from the attic above and hearing Lizzie's protesting voice, made his way up there.

He found them in the trunk room, a dusty, dingy apartment lined with high closets along the walls--the floor littered with an incongruous assortment of attic objects--two battered trunks, a clothes hamper, an old sewing machine, a broken-backed kitchen chair, two dilapidated suitcases and a shabby satchel that might once have been a woman's dressing case--in one corner a grimy fireplace in which, obviously, no fire had been lighted for years.
But he also found Miss Cornelia holding her candle to the floor and staring at something there.
"Candle grease!" she said sharply, staring at a line of white spots by the window.

She stooped and touched the spots with an exploratory finger.
"Fresh candle grease! Now who do you suppose did that?
Do you remember how Mr.Gillette, in Sherlock Holmes, when he--" Her voice trailed off.

She stooped and followed the trail of the candle grease away from the window, ingeniously trying to copy the shrewd, piercing gaze of Mr.Gillette as she remembered him in his most famous role.
"It leads straight to the fireplace!" she murmured in tones of Sherlockian gravity.

Bailey repressed an involuntary smile.