CHAPTER II
Treasure Trove!
IT seemed that my sudden abstraction had offended Cecily more deeply than I imagined, for when I knocked at her door next evening, she told me curtly that she was not feeling well and intended going early to bed. So I went back to my room, rather glad of the chance of an evening to myself.
Besides, Cecily was a good deal like a highly flavoured dish—to be fully enjoyed only at intervals. And, too, there was only one point as yet unsettled—where she and Tremaine had been the night of the murder. That, I felt, could be cleared up without much difficulty the first time she received me, which would probably be not later than tomorrow. I had a premonition that that line of inquiry, too, would lead nowhere—that Cecily would prove, by a word, that neither she nor Tremaine had been anywhere near the Marathon at the hour of the crime. In any event I had plenty of time, and I could spend this evening very profitably in weighing and classifying my discoveries; in getting a fresh start.
As I opened my door, I noticed it scraped on the carpet, and an examination showed me that the carpet had come loose along the sill. I stepped to the speaking tube and blew down it.
“Hello!” called up a voice in a moment.
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