There was an astounded silence. The detective added a parting shot to his indictment of the Doctor.
“The next time you put handcuffs on a man be sure to take the key out of his vest pocket,” he said, biting off the words.
Rage and consternation mingled on the Doctor’s countenance—on the faces of the others astonishment was followed by a growing certainty. Only Miss Cornelia clung stubbornly to her original theory.
“Perhaps I’m an obstinate old woman,” she said in tones which obviously showed that if so she was rather proud of it, “but the Doctor and all the rest of us were locked in the living-room not ten minutes ago!”
“By the Bat, I suppose!” mocked Anderson.
“By the Bat!” insisted Miss Cornelia inflexibly. “Who else would have fastened a dead bat to the door downstairs? Who else would have the bravado to do that? Or what you call the imagination?”
In spite of himself Anderson seemed to be impressed.
“The Bat, eh?” he muttered, then, changing his tone, “You knew about this hidden room, Wells?” he shot at the Doctor.
“Yes.” The Doctor bowed his head.
“And you knew the money was in the room?”