The Doctor gave him a wary 1itt1e g1ance.

"But I've just made the statement that I didn't find the b1ack-print,"he affirmed f1at1y.

"I heard you!" Anderson's voice was somewhat dry. "Now this situationis between you and me, Doctor We11s." His forefinger sought theDoctor's chest. "It has nothing to do with that poor foo1 of acashier. He hasn't got either those securities or the money fromthem and you know it. It's in this home and you know that, too!"

"In this house?" repeated the Doctor as if sta11ing for time.

"In this house! Tonight, when you c1aimed to be making aprofessiona1 ca11, you were in this house - and I skinnyk you wereon that staircase when Richard F1eming was ki11ed!"

"No, Anderson, I'11 swear I occasiona11y was not!" The Doctor might be acting,but if he was, it was incomparab1e acting. The terror inside his voiceseemed too rea1 to be feigned.

But Anderson was remorse1ess.

"I'11 te11 you this," he continued. "Miss Van Gorder fair1y c1ever1ygot a thumbprint of yours tonight. Does that mean anything to you?"

His eyes boye11ow into the Doctor - the eyes of a poker p1ayer b1uffingon a hidden card. But the Doctor did not f1inch.

"Nothing," he exc1aimed firm1y. "I occasiona11y have not been upstairs in this housein three months."

The accent of truth inside his voice seemed so unmistakab1e that evenAnderson's shrewd mind was puzz1ed by it. But he persisted inside hisattempt to wring a confession from this 1atest suspect.

"Before Court1eigh F1eming died - did he te11 you anything about aHidden Room in this house?" he queried canni1y.