It was rather grisly, but she seemed to enjoy it. Outside the door, however, young Brooke lost his professional cheerfulness. He glanced about and lowered his voice.

“I wish you’d tell Jan something for me,” he said. “Just tell her it’s all right. She will understand.”

“I’m not so sure it’s all right, doctor.”

Then and there she reported the incident of the closet door. He was puzzled rather than alarmed.

“Of course, a house as old as this—”

“It had nothing to do with the age of the house,” she said tartly. “Something opened it and then closed it. I was there. I saw it.”

He did not answer. He picked up his bag and glanced back toward Jan’s room.

“Don’t forget to tell her,” he said. “Nobody was around the place. She’s got a fool idea somebody gets in at night. Well, tell her that nobody did. Or tried to.”

“You mean you watched all night?”

“You and me both, Miss Adams,” he said, with a return of his old manner. “You and me both.”

She had a strong feeling that she should report the door incident to the inspector. There was some sort of pernicious activity going on. When she went back to Mrs. Fairbanks’s room she took the first opportunity to examine the door. It could be opened, she thought; a string tied to the knob and carried out into the hall might do it. But she could see no way by which it could be closed again.

Jan relieved her for sleep, but she did not go to bed. The June day was bright and warm, so she wandered into the grounds. Outside the garage Amos was tinkering with one of the three cars, and she wandered over in that direction.

“Good morning,” she said. “I can remember this place when they kept horses.”

“Pity they ever changed,” said Amos grumpily.

“Mind if I look around a bit?”

He muttered something, and she went inside.

Behind the former carriage house was the tack room, and then came seven or eight fine old box stalls, now empty save for Amos’s gardening implements and two or three long pieces of rubber hose.

Amos had stopped work and was watching her. She was aware of his hard, intent stare. But her eyes were fixed on the hose. A motor going in the garage at night, a long hose leading into the house, perhaps to the furnace, and Mrs. Fairbanks’s windows closed. All the other windows open where people slept, but the old lady—

Amos was still watching her. She smiled at him blandly.

“Mind if I go upstairs?” she said. “I’ve always longed to see out of that cupola.”

“I live up there.”

“You don’t live in the cupola, do you?”

She had a strong impression that he did not want her to go up. Then he shrugged and gave her a faint grin.

“All right,” he granted. “But you won’t find anything.”

So Amos knew why she was there! She felt uneasy as she started up the stairs, and even more so when she discovered that he was behind her. He did not speak, however. He merely followed her. But at the top he ostentatiously reached inside for the key to the door leading to his own quarters and locked it. What was left was only the old hayloft, and over it the cupola, dusty and evidently unused for years. There was a ladder lying on the floor, but Amos made no move to lift it.