“That reminds me of something I’ve always wanted to ask you. What sort of a game did you and Bert Elgin have together about that time?”
Wilmerding stared. “Game?” he repeated blankly. “Bert Elgin? I don’t get you, Snow. Elucidate.”
“Well, I thought it was a joke of some kind,” Pell returned. “Only it seemed funny that all of a sudden you should be as chummy as that with Elgin. While I was waiting for you, I strolled into your bedroom to brush my hair. I was standing before the bureau when I heard the outside door open. Thought it was you, of course, until some one called out your name. I didn’t feel in the mood for gassing with any one else, so I said nothing and slipped back to one side of the door.
“To make a long story short, I heard the fellow moving around the sitting room, and pretty soon I happened to catch sight of him in the dressing-table mirror. It was Bert Elgin, and he was heading for the bookshelves in the corner.”
Wilmerding gave a slight start, the color flaming into his face.
“Go on,” he urged, as his friend, glancing at him, paused in his narration. “What—happened?”
“He took something out of his pocket and dropped it behind the books,” Pell continued. “I didn’t see what it was; but as it fell there was a clink that sounded like metal—a chain or—— Great Scott! What is it, Oggie? What’s the matter with you?”
The color had vanished from Wilmerding’s face, and he was staring at his companion with a strained, incredulous expression in his eyes which testified to the emotion he was undergoing.
“What—books—were they?” he gasped at length, in a hoarse voice.
“The books he put the stuff behind, you mean?” queried Pell. “I don’t remember, but I think it was the second shelf from the top. I know they were over on the extreme right-hand end of the case.”