She offered her resignation, as usual, on the spot, but I took her by the arm, and she came along finally. She switched on all the lights and pointed to a door just ahead. 

 “That’s the door,” she said sulkily. “The key’s in it.” 

 But the key was not in it. Mr. Jamieson shook it, but it was a heavy door, well locked. And then he stooped and began punching around the keyhole with the end of a lead-pencil. When he stood up his face was exultant. 

 “It’s locked on the inside,” he said in a low tone. “There is somebody in there.” 

 “Lord have mercy!” gasped Liddy, and turned to run. 

 “Liddy,” I called, “go through the house at once and see who is missing, or if any one is. We’ll have to clear this thing at once. Mr. Jamieson, if you will watch here I will go to the lodge and find Warner. Thomas would be of no use. Together you may be able to force the door.” 

 “A good idea,” he assented. “But—there are windows, of course, and there is nothing to prevent whoever is in there from getting out that way.” 

 “Then lock the door at the top of the basement stairs,” I suggested, “and patrol the house from the outside.” 

 We agreed to this, and I had a feeling that the mystery of Sunnyside was about to be solved. I ran down the steps and along the drive. Just at the corner I ran full tilt into somebody who seemed to be as much alarmed as I was. It was not until I had recoiled a step or two that I recognized Gertrude, and she me. 

 “Good gracious, Aunt Ray,” she exclaimed, “what is the matter?” 

 “There’s somebody locked in the laundry,” I panted. “That is—unless—you didn’t see any one crossing the lawn or skulking around the house, did you?” 

 “I think we have mystery on the brain,” Gertrude said wearily. “No, I haven’t seen any one, except old Thomas, who looked for all the world as if he had been ransacking the pantry. What have you locked in the laundry?” 

 “I can’t wait to explain,” I replied. “I must get Warner from the lodge. If you came out for air, you’d better put on your overshoes.” And then I noticed that Gertrude was limping—not much, but sufficiently to make her progress very slow, and seemingly painful. 

 “You have hurt yourself,” I said sharply. 

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