"No," said Pen calmly. "It's among the other keys on the rack in my sewing-room. My father will get it for you."
Pendleton trotted obediently away with his candle.
When he came back with it Delehanty's sleuths had completed their search of Pen's room. The whole party passed around through the hall to the door of the guest-room. The men showed excitement. They thought they had their man. Delehanty flung the door open and stepped back. He ordered his men to cast the light of their electric torches inside. This was to draw the fire of the supposed occupant. Pen's lip curled. Finally the men ventured across the threshold.
The acetylene lantern filled the great bare chamber with light. It was meagerly furnished, a gigantic bedroom set of the carved walnut period, the bed with an old-fashioned mosquito bar, an air-tight stove, an humble little rocking-chair. The great expanse of white wall was guiltless of paper or tint, and showed long fine cracks running in every direction like the map of a complicated river system. The floor was covered with matting.
Delehanty sniffed. "The air is fresh. There's been a window open in here."
Pen's heart contracted. "The room is aired every day," she said quickly.
Delehanty went to the window in the corner. The two windows at the side of the room were shuttered on the outside. He cast his light along the sill.
"There's no dust here," he said accusingly.
"There's no dust anywhere in my house," said Pen.
Delehanty commanded the window to be opened. The acetylene light was held outside. This was the crucial moment. Pen held her breath.