Letting the door close gently he walked back to
the umbrella stand. It was a tall heavy affair, and he had some
difficulty in tipping it over and letting its contents spill on the
floor. A soft exclamation escaped him as three little pellets
rolled past him, and then came the bottom of a box.
With hasty fingers Kent picked them up, placed them in the box, and
fitted on the top, first carefully smoothing over the hole made by
his cane when thrust into the umbrella stand by the footman.
Replacing the stand he wrapped the box containing the pills in his
handkerchief and hurried from the house.
Kent found the operative from Detective Headquarters sitting on
duty in Rochester's living room when he entered that apartment a
quarter of an hour later.
"Any one called here?" he asked, as the man, whom he had met the
night before, greeted him.
"Not a soul, Mr. Kent." Nelson suppressed a yawn; his relief was
late in coming, and he had had little sleep the night before.
"There's been no disturbance of any kind, not even a ring at the
telephone.
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