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The wire whose course they were following led under the top frame of the door, and, with a flashlight in his hand, Dundee showed how it continued along a rafter until it reached the place where it was joined, by adhesive tape, to the wire Sprague had dropped from Nita's bedroom floor above.
In a stunned way now, Jimmie Dale stared for a long minute at the letter in his hand then he read it again and yet again. And then, the flashlight out, as he tore the letter into fragments, he stared again, for a long minute into the blackness. It was damnable, it was monstrous, this thing that he had read; it plumbed the dregs of human deviltry but for once the Tocsin was at fault.
"Under loose board, right-hand corner from door," murmured Jimmie Dale. He was kneeling on the floor now. "Yes, here it was!" His flashlight was boring down into a little excavation beneath the piece of flooring he had removed. He stared into this for a moment, his lips twitching grimly; then, with a whimsical shrug of his shoulders, he replaced the board, and stood up.
"The air is so wonderfully still that sound carries a long way this evening." Dick ran into the tent, returning with an envelope and a pad of paper. "Come along, Dave," Dick requested. "And you'd better bring Tom's flashlight. It will be dark before we get back." The battery of the flashlight having had a good rest, now furnished an excellent light again.
On his previous visit the gate had been unfastened, and he had had no difficulty in reaching the house. Now, however, it was locked. He put his flashlight over the gate and the supporting piers, and discovered a bell, evidently brand new, and recently fixed. He made no attempt to press the little white button, but continued his reconnaissance.
During the few moments' pause he saw the situation as by a photographic flashlight. He leaned over the table and supplied himself with a fresh brandy and soda from the tray of siphons and decanters. He gave himself time to take the glass up in his hand. "No," he answered, "you are not `dead easy. That's why I am going to broach another subject to you." Tembarom was refilling his pipe.
"The time is zero minus fifteen," the speaker stated. Rick went up the elevator, hurried up the last few steps, and swung the hatch open. He took the flashlight from his belt kit and swung it around the interior. Prince Machiavelli blinked at him from a cocoon of tapes and straps. The light hurt the monk's eyes. Rick clicked it off and moved to the little marmoset's side. He stroked the tiny head.
Who was there to hear it? She stepped forward, closed the door silently behind her, and drew out her flashlight. The ray cut through the blackness. She was in what seemed like a small, outer storeroom, that was littered with an untidy collection of boxes, broken furniture, and odds and ends of all sorts. Ahead of her was an open door, and, through this, the flashlight disclosed the shop itself.
It was a strange search there in the murderer's room, the flashlight winking and flinging its little gleams of light through the blackness; a strange search, thorough as only Jimmie Dale could make it and still leave no tell-tale sign behind to witness that a single object in the room had been disturbed. But the search was futile; and at the end Jimmie Dale smiled whimsically.
About four feet in front of the entrance was a huge manure pile, and the odor from it was anything but pleasant. Using my flashlight I stumbled through the door. Just before entering I observed a white sign reading: "Sitting 50, lying 20," but, at the time, its significance did not strike me. Next morning I asked the Sergeant-Major what it meant.
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