What was the mystery that
awaited us in the great lonely house on Long Island?
We found Fletcherwood a splendid estate directly on the bay, with
a long driveway leading up to the door. Professor Fletcher met
us at the porte cochere, and I was glad to note that, far from
taking me as an intruder, he seemed rather relieved that someone
who understood the ways of the newspapers could stand between him
and any reporters who might possibly drop in.
He ushered us directly into the library and closed the door. It
seemed as if he could scarcely wait to tell his story.
"Kennedy," he began, almost trembling with excitement, "look at
that safe door."
We looked. It had been drilled through in such a way as to break
the combination. It was a heavy door, closely fitting, and it was
the best kind of small safe that the state of the art had
produced. Yet clearly it had been tampered with, and
successfully. Who was this scientific cracksman who had
apparently accomplished the impossible? It was no ordinary hand
and brain which had executed this "job."
Fletcher swung the door wide, and pointed to a little compartment
inside, whose steel door had been jimmied open. Then out of it he
carefully lifted a steel box and deposited it on the library
table.
"I suppose everybody has been handling that box?" asked Craig
quickly.
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