"You must remember Fleming was no ordinary defaulter and he had no intention of being exiled to a foreign country.

He wanted to come back here and take his place in the community while I was in the pen." "But even then--" He interrupted her.

"Listen, dear--" He crossed to the billiard-room door, closed it firmly, returned.
"The architect that built this house was an old friend of mine," he said in hushed accents.

"We were together in France and you know the way fellows get to talking when they're far away and cut off--" He paused, seeing the cruel gleam of the flame throwers--two figures huddled in a foxhole, whiling away the terrible hours of waiting by muttered talk.
"Just an hour or two before--a shell got this friend of mine," he resumed, "he told me he had built a hidden room in this house." "Where ?" gasped Dale.
Brooks shook his head.

"I don't know.