Anita dropped the match from her nerveless hands. Constance felt an arm grasp her tightly. For a moment a chill ran over her at being caught in the nefarious work of breaking and entering a dwelling-house at night. The hand was Anita's, but the voice was that of a man.
Lights flashed all over the house at once, from a sort of electric light system that could be instantly lighted and would act as a "burglar expeller."
It was Douglas himself. He was staring angrily at his wife and the stranger with her.
"Well!" he demanded with cold sarcasm. "Why this—this burglary?"
Before he could quite take in the situation, with a quick motion, Constance struck a match and touched it to the papers in the fireplace.
As they blazed up he caught sight of what they were and almost leaped across the floor.
Constance laid her hand on his arm. "One moment, Mr. Douglas," she said quietly. "Look at that!"
"Who—who the devil are you?" he gasped. "What's all this?"
"I think," remarked Constance slowly and quietly, "that your wife is now in a position to prove that you—well, don't come into court with clean hands, if you attempt to do so. Besides, you know, the courts rather frown on detectives that practice collusion and conspiracy and frame up evidence, to say nothing of trying to blackmail the victims. I thought perhaps you'd prefer not to say anything about this—er—visit to-night—after you saw that."
Constance had quietly laid one of the erased checks on the library table. Again she dipped the sponge into the brownish liquid. Again the magic touch revealed the telltale name. With her finger she was pointing to the faintly legible "Helen Brett" on the check as the sulphide had brought it out.