by Mary Roberts Rinehart and Avery Hopwood

“ The Doctor, once more the physician, knelt at her side and felt for her pulse. And Lizzie, picking herself up from where the collision with some violent body had thrown her, retrieved the smelling salts from the floor. It was onto this picture, the candle-light shining on strained faces, the dramatic figure of Dale, now semi-conscious, the desperate rage of Bailey, that a new actor appeared on the scene.
Anderson, the detective, stood in the doorway, holding a candle—as grim and menacing a figure as a man just arisen from the dead. ”

“ The Doctor, head bowed, prepared to obey. The detective took up a candle to light their path. Then he turned to the others for a moment.
"Better get the young lady to bed," he said with a gruff kindliness of manner. "I think that I can promise you a quiet night from now on."
"I'm glad you think so, Mr. Anderson!" Miss Cornelia insisted on the last word. The detective ignored the satiric twist of her speech, motioned the Doctor out ahead of him, and followed. The faint glow of his candle flickered a moment and vanished toward the stairs.
It was Bailey who broke the silence. ”

“ The detective added a parting shot to his indictment of the Doctor.
"The next time you put handcuffs on a man, be sure to take the key out of his vest-pocket," he said, biting off the words.
Rage and consternation mingled on the Doctor's countenance—on the faces of the others astonishment was followed by a growing certainty. Only Miss Cornelia clung stubbornly to her original theory.
"Perhaps I'm an obstinate old woman," she said in tones which obviously showed that if so she was rather proud of it, "but the Doctor and all the rest of us were locked in the living-room, not ten minutes ago!" ”