The detective folded his arms. As Mrs. Gertstein said he had been playing for time, and Larry had put his finger on the reason. There was no perceptible change in his face. He still held an attitude of contemptuous indifference. He knew that he was in a tight fix. That the woman would not hesitate at murder he had proof. Of Larry he was not so sure. That gentleman would not run the risk of putting his neck in a noose at the dictate of panic. If he killed it would be after calculation, and because there was no other way that would ensure his safety.

He was sure that Larry was not alone, but he could not guess how many were with him. Even if Malone was a prisoner there was no harm in continuing to stall for time. All the servants of the house could not be accomplices, and in time they must become aware of the queerness of what was going on. He could not know that six of them were penned in the servants’ hall, with Tom the thin-faced valet, keeping guard, armed like Larry with a wicked little automatic.