"Margaret! What is it?" McIntyre demanded. "Calm yourself, my
darling."
The frenzied woman shook off his soothing hand.
"See, see!" she cried and pointed with her torch.
"She means the Venetian casket," explained Helen, who had paused
before joining them to switch on the light.
Colonel McIntyre gazed in amazement at the piece of furniture;
then catching sight of the blood-stain, he raised the small
trap-door or peep hole, in the top of the oblong box which stood
breast high, supported on a beautifully carved base.
There was a breathless pause; then McIntyre unceremoniously jerked
the electric torch from Mrs. Brewster's nervous fingers and turned
its rays of the interior of the casket. Stretched at full length
lay the figure of a man, and from a wound in his temple flowed a
steady stream of blood.
"Good God!" McIntyre staggered back against Helen. "Grimes!"
CHAPTER XVII
A QUESTION OF H0USE-BREAKING
The genial president of the Metropolis Trust Company was late.
Mrs. Brewster, waiting in his well-appointed office, restrained her
ill-temper only by an exertion of will-power.
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