“You can do it better than I can, sir,” retorted Grimes. “You know the reason every one's searching the room with the seven doors.”
“The room with the seven doors!” echoed Ferguson. “Which is that?”
“Grimes means the library.” McIntyre's tone was short. “I have no idea, Grimes, what your allegations mean. Be more explicit.”
The butler eyed him in no friendly fashion. “Wasn't Mr. Turnbull arrested in that very room?” he demanded. “And what was he looking for?”
“Mr. Turnbull's presence has been explained,” replied McIntyre. “He came here disguised as a burglar on a wager with my daughter, Miss Barbara.”
“Ah, did he now?” Grimes' rising inflection indicated nervous tension. “Did a man with a bad heart come here in the dead of night for nothing but that foolishness?” Grimes glared at his three visitors. “You bet he didn't.”
Ferguson, who had followed the dialogue between McIntyre and his servant with deep attention, addressed the excited man.
“Why did Mr. Turnbull enter Colonel McIntyre's library on Monday night disguised as a burglar?” he asked.
Grimes, by a twist of his head, managed to regard the detective out of the corner of his eye.
“Aye, why did he?” he repeated. “That's what I went to the library last night to find out.”