 Chapter 16 of the bat. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Allen Winteroud. The bat by Mary Roberts Reinhart. Chapter 16, The Hidden Room. A few moments later, Jack Bailey seeing a thin glow of candlelight from the attic above and hearing Lizzie's protesting voice made his way up there. He found them in the trunk room, a dusty dingy apartment lined with high closets along the walls. The floor littered with an incongruous assortment of attic objects, two battered trunks, a clothes hamper, an old sewing machine, a broken-backed kitchen chair, two dilapidated suitcases, and a shabby satchel that might once have been a woman's dressing case. In one corner, a grimy fireplace in which, obviously, no fire had been lighted for years. But he also found Miss Cornelia holding her candle to the floor and staring at something there. Candle grease, she said sharply, staring at a line of white spots by the window. She stooped and touched the spots with an exploratory finger. Fresh candle grease. Now who do you suppose did that? Do you remember how Mr. Gillette in Sherlock Holmes when he—her voice trailed off. She stooped and followed the trail of the candle grease away from the window, ingeniously trying to copy the shrewd piercing gaze of Mr. Gillette as she remembered him in his most famous role. It leads straight to the fireplace, she murmured in tones of Sherlockian gravity. Bailey suppressed an involuntary smile, but her next words gave him genuine food for thought. She stared at the mantle of the fireplace accusingly. It's been going through my mind for the last few minutes that no chimney flu runs up this side of the house, she said. Bailey stared. Then why the fireplace? That's what I'm going to find out, said the spinster grimly. She started to wrap the mantle, testing it for secret springs. Jack! Jack! It was Dale's voice, low and cautious, coming from the landing of the stairs. Bailey stepped to the door of the trunk room. Come in, he called in reply, and shut the door behind you. Dale entered, turning the key in the lock behind her. Where are the others? They're still searching the house. There's no sign of anybody. They haven't found Mr. Anderson. Dale shook her head. Not yet. She turned toward her aunt. Miss Cornelia had begun to enjoy herself once more. Wrapping on the mantle piece, poking and pressing various corners and sections of the mantle itself, she remembered all the detective stories she had ever read and thought with a sniff of scorn that she could better them. There were always sliding panels and hidden drawers and detective stories, and the detective discovered them by wrapping just as she was doing and listening for a hollow sound and answer. She wrapped on the wall above the mantle. Exactly. There was the hollow echo she wanted. Hollow was Lizzie's head, she said triumphantly. The fireplace was obviously not what it seemed. There must be a space behind it unaccounted for in the building plans. Now what was the next step detectives always took? Oh yes. They looked for panels. Panels that moved. And when one shoved them away, there was a button or something. She pushed and pressed and finally something did move. It was the mantle piece itself. Falls great and all, which began to swing out into the room, revealing behind a dark hollow cubby hole, some six feet by six feet. The hidden room at last. Oh Jack, be careful, breathe Dale, as her lover took Miss Cornelia's candle and moved toward the dark hiding place. But her eyes had already caught the outlines of a tall iron safe in the gloom and in spite of her fears, her lips formed a wordless cry of victory. But Jack Bailey said nothing at all. One glance had shown him that the safe was empty. The tragic collapse of all their hopes was almost more than they could bear. Coming on top of the nerve wracking events of the night, it left them dazed and directionless. It was of course Miss Cornelia who recovered first. Even without the money, she said, the mere presence of this safe here hidden away tells the story. The fact that someone else knew and got here first cannot alter that. But she could not cheer them. It was Lizzie who created a diversion. Lizzie who had bolted into the hall at the first motion of the mantle piece outward and who now with equal precipitation came bolting back. She rushed into the room slamming the door behind her and collapsed into a heap of moaning terror at her mistress' feet. At first she was completely inarticulate, but after a time she muttered that she had seen him and then fell to groaning again. The same thought was in all their minds that in some corner of the upper floor she had come across the body of Anderson. But when Miss Cornelia finally quieted her and asked this, she shook her head. It was the bad I saw was her astounding statement. He dropped through the skylight out there and ran along the hall. I saw him, I tell you, he went right by me. Nonsense, said Miss Cornelia briskly. How can you say such a thing? But Bailey pushed forward and took Lizzie by the shoulder. What did he look like? He hadn't any face. He was all black where his face ought to be. Do you mean he wore a mask? Maybe, I don't know. She collapsed again. But when Bailey followed by Miss Cornelia made a move toward the door, she broke into a frantic wailing. Don't go out there, she shrieked. He's there, I tell you. I'm not crazy. If you open that door, he'll shoot. But the door was already open and no shot came. With the departure of Bailey and Miss Cornelia and their resulting darkness due to their taking the candle, Lizzie and Dale were left alone. The girl was faint with disappointment and strain. She sat huddled on a trunk, saying nothing. And after a moment or two, Lizzie roused to her condition. Not feeling sick, are you? She asked. I feel a little queer. Who wouldn't in the dark here with that monster loose somewhere nearby? But she stirred herself and got up. I better get the smelling salt, she said heavily. God knows I hate to move, but if there's one place safer in this house than another, I've yet to find it. She went out, leaving Dale alone. The trunk room was dark, save that now and then as the candle appeared and reappeared, the doorway was faintly outlined. On this outline, she kept her eyes fixed by way of comfort and thus passed the next few minutes. She felt weak and dizzy and entirely despairing. Then the outline was not so clear. She had heard nothing, but there was something in the doorway. It stood there formless, diabolical, and then she saw what was happening. It was closing the door. Afterward, she was mercifully not to remember what came next. The figure was perhaps intent on what was going on outside or her own movements may have been as silent as its own. That she got into the mantle room and even partially closed it behind her is certain, and that her description of what followed is fairly accurate is borne out by the facts as known. The bat was working rapidly. She heard his quick nervous movements. Apparently he had come back for something and secured it. For now he moved again toward the door, but he was too late. They were returning that way. She heard him mutter something and quickly turn the key in the lock. Then he seemed to run toward the window and for some reason to recoil from it. The next instant she realized that he was coming toward the mantle room that he intended to hide in it. There was no doubt in her mind as to his identity. It was the bat and in a moment more he would be shut in there with her. She tried to scream and could not and the next instant when the bat leaped into concealment beside her she was in a dead faint on the floor. Bailey meanwhile had crawled out onto the roof and was carefully searching it. But other things were happening also. A disinterested observer could have seen very soon why the bat had abandoned the window as a means of egress. Almost before the mantle had swung to behind the arch criminal, the top of a tall pruning ladder had appeared at the window and by its quivering showed that someone was climbing up rung by rung. Unsuspiciously enough he came on, pausing at the top to flash a light into the room and then cautiously swinging a leg over the sill. It was the doctor. He gave a low whistle but there was no reply save that had he seen it, the mantle swung out an inch or two. Perhaps he was never so near death as at that moment but that instant of irresolution on his part saved him for by coming into the room he had taken himself out of range. Even then he was very close to destruction for after a brief pause and a second rather puzzled survey of the room he started toward the mantle itself. Only the rattle of the doorknob stopped him and a call from outside. Dale called Bailey's voice in the corridor. Dale, Dale, the door's locked cried Miss Cornelia. The doctor hesitated. The call came again. Dale, Dale, and Bailey pounded on the door as if he meant to break it down. The doctor made up his mind. Wait a moment he called. He stepped through the door and unlocked it. Bailey hurled himself into the room followed by Miss Cornelia with her candle. Lizzie stood in the doorway timidly ready to leap for safety at a moment's notice. Why did you lock that door? said Bailey angrily, threatening the doctor. But I didn't say the latter truthfully enough. Bailey made a movement of irritation. Then a glance about the room informed him of the amazing the incredible fact. Dale was not there. She had disappeared. You, you, he stammered at the doctor. Where's Miss Ogden? What have you done with her? The doctor was equally baffled. Done with her? He said indignantly. I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't seen her. Then you didn't lock that door. Bailey menaced him. The doctor's denial was firm. Absolutely not. I was coming through the window when I heard your voice at the door. Bailey's eyes leapt to the window. Yes, the latter was there. The doctor might be speaking the truth after all. But if so, how and why had Dale disappeared? The doctor's admission of his manner of entrance did not make Lizzie any the happier. In at the window, just like a bat, she muttered in shaking tones. She would not have stayed in the doorway if she had not been afraid to move anywhere else. I saw lights up here from outside, continued the doctor easily, and I thought Miss Cornelia interrupted him. She had set down her candle and laid the revolver on top of the clothes hamper and now stood gazing at the mantle fireplace. The mantles closed, she said. The doctor stared. So the secret of the hidden room was a secret no longer. He saw ruin gaping before him, a bottomless abyss. Damnation. He cursed impotently under his breath. Bailey turned on him savagely. Did you shut that mantle? No. I'll see whether you shut it or not. Bailey leaped toward the fireplace. Dale, Dale, he called desperately, leaning against the mantle. His fingers groped for the knob that worked the mechanism of the hidden entrance. The doctor picked up the single-lighted candle from the hamper as if to throw more light on Bailey's task. Bailey's fingers found the knob. He turned it. The mantle began to swing out into the room. As it did so, the doctor deliberately snuffed out the light of the candle he held, leaving the room in abrupt and obliterating darkness. End of Chapter 16. Recording by Alan Winterout. Boomcoach.blogspot.com. Chapter 17 of The Bat. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Alan Winterout. The Bat by Mary Robert Reinhardt. Chapter 17. Anderson Makes an Arrest. Doctor, why did you put out that candle? Miss Cornelia's voice cut the blackness like a knife. I—I didn't. I—you did. I saw you do it. The brief exchange of accusation and denial took but an instant of time as the mantle swung wide open. The next instant there was a rush of feet across the floor from the fireplace, the shock of a collision between two bodies, the sound of a heavy fall. What was that? queried Bailey daisily with a feeling as if some great winged creature had brushed at him and passed. Lizzie answered from the doorway. Oh, oh, she groaned in stricken accents. Somebody knocked me down and tramped on me. Matches, quick, commanded Miss Cornelia. Where's the candle? The doctor was still trying to explain his curious action of a moment before. Awfully sorry, I assure you, it dropped out of the holder. Ah, here it is. He held it up triumphantly. Bailey struck a match and lighted it. The wavering little flame showed Lizzie prostrate but vocal in the doorway, and Dale lying on the floor of the hidden room. Her eyes shut, and her face as drained of color as the face of a marble statue. For one horrible instant, Bailey thought she must be dead. He rushed to her wildly and picked her up in his arms. No, still breathing, thank God. He carried her tenderly to the only chair in the room, doctor. 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 now onto this picture, the candlelight 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. That's right, said Lizzie, unappalled for once. Come in when everything's over. The doctor glanced up and met the detective's eyes, cold and menacing. You took my revolver from me downstairs, he said. I'll trouble you for it. The doctor got heavily to his feet. The others, their suspicions confirmed at last, looked at him with startled eyes. The detective seemed to enjoy the universal confusion his words had brought. Slowly with cell and reluctance, the doctor yielded up the stolen weapon. The detective examined it casually and replaced it in his hip pocket. I have something to settle with you pretty soon, he said through clenched teeth addressing the doctor. And I'll settle it properly. Now, what's this? He indicated Dale, her face still in waxen, her breath coming so faintly she seemed hardly to breathe at all as Miss Cornelia and Bailey tried to revive her. She's coming too, said Miss Cornelia triumphantly, as a first faint flush of color reappeared in the girl's cheeks. We found her shut in there, Mr. Anderson, the spencer added, pointing toward the gaping entrance of the hidden room. A gleam crossed the detective's face. He went up to examine the secret chamber. As he did so, Dr. Wells, who had been inching surreptitiously towards the door, sought the opportunity of slipping out and observed. But Anderson was not to be caught napping again. Wells, he barked, the doctor stopped and turned. Where were you when she was locked in this room? The doctor's eyes sought the floor, the walls wildly for any possible loophole of escape. I didn't shut her in if that's what you mean, he said defiantly. There was someone shut in there with her. He gestured at the hidden room. Ask these people here. Miss Cornelia caught him up at once. The fact remains, doctor, she said, her voice cold with anger, that we left her here alone. When we came back, you were here. The corridor was locked, and she was in that room unconscious. She moved forward to throw the light of her candle on the hidden room as the detective passed into it, gave it a swift professional glance, and stepped out again. But she had not finished her story by any means. As we opened that door, she continued to the detective, tapping the false mantle. The doctor deliberately extinguished our only candle. Do you know who was in that room, queried the detective fiercely, wheeling on the doctor? But the latter had evidently made up his mind to cling stubbornly to a policy of complete denial. No, he said sullenly. I didn't put out the candle, it fell, and I didn't lock that door into the hall, I found it locked. A sigh of relief from Bailey now centered everyone's attention on himself and Dale. At last the girl was recovering from the shock of her terrible experience and regaining consciousness. Her eyelids fluttered, closed again, opened once more. She tried to sit up weakly, clinging to Bailey's shoulder. The color returned to her cheeks, the stupor left her eyes. She gave the hidden room a hunted little glance, and then shuttered violently. Please, close that awful door, she said in a tremulous voice. I don't want to see it again. The detective went silently to close the iron doors. What happened to you? Can't you remember? Faulted Bailey on his knees at her side. The shadow of an old terror lay on the girl's face. I was in here alone in the dark, she began slowly. Then, as I looked at the doorway there, I saw there was somebody there. He came in and closed the door. I didn't know what to do, so I slipped in, there, and after a while I knew he was coming in too, for he couldn't get out. Then I must have fainted. There was nothing about the figure that you recognized? No, nothing. But we know it was the bat put in Miss Cornelia. The detective laughed sardonically. The old duel of opposing theories between the two seemed about to recommence. Still harping on the bat, he said, with a little sneer. Miss Cornelia stuck to her guns. I have every reason to believe that the bat is in this house, she said. The detective gave another jarring, mirthless laugh, and that he took the Union Bank money out of the safe I supposed, he jeered. No, Miss Van Gorder. He wheeled on the doctor now. Asked the doctor who took the Union Bank money out of that safe, he thundered. Asked the doctor who attacked me downstairs in the living room, knocked me senseless, and locked me in the billiard room. There was an astounded 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. By the bat, I suppose. By the bat, insisted Miss Cornelia inflexibly. Who else would have fastened the dead bat to the door downstairs? Who else would have the bravado to do that? Or what you call the imagination? In spite of himself, Anderson seemed to be impressed. The bat, eh? he muttered. Then, changing his tone. You knew about this hidden room, Wells? He shot at the doctor. Yes. The doctor bowed his head. And you knew the money was in the room? Well, I was wrong, wasn't I? Parried the doctor. You can look for yourself. That safe is empty. The detective brushed his evasive answer aside. You were up in this room earlier tonight, he said in tones of apparent certainty. No, I couldn't get up, the doctor still insisted, with strange violence for a man who had already admitted such damning knowledge. The detective's face was a study in disbelief. You know where that money is, Wells, and I'm going to find it. This last taunt seemed to go the doctor beyond endurance. Good God, he shouted recklessly. Do you suppose if I knew where it is I'd be here? I've had plenty of chances to get away. No, you can't pin anything on me, Anderson. It isn't criminal to have known that room is here. He paused, trembling with anger and, curiously enough, was an anger that seemed at least half sincere. Oh, don't be so damned virtuous, said the detective brutally. Maybe you haven't been upstairs, but, unless I miss my guess, you know who was. The doctor's face changed a little. What about Richard Fleming, persisted the detective scornfully? The doctor drew himself up. I never killed him, he said so impressively that even Bailey's faith in his guilt was shaken. I don't even own a revolver. The detective alone maintained his attitude unchanged. You come with me, Wells, he ordered, with a jerk of his thumb towards the door. This time I'll do the locking up. 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 kindness of manner. I think that I can promise you a quiet night from now on. I'm glad you think so, Mr. Anderson, Ms. Cornuia 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 light of his candle flickered a moment and vanished toward the stairs. It was Bailey who broke the silence. I can believe a good bit about Wells, he said, but not that he stood on that staircase and killed Dick Fleming. Ms. Cornuia roused from deep thought. Of course not, she said briskly. Go down and fix Ms. Dale's bed, Lizzie, and then bring up some wine. Down there where the bat is, Lizzie demanded. The bat has gone. Don't you believe it? He's just got his hand in. But at last Lizzie went and closing the door behind her, Ms. Cornuia proceeded more or less to think out loud. Suppose, she said, that the bat or whoever it was shut in there with you killed Richard Fleming. Say that he is the one Lizzie saw coming in by the terrace door. Then he knew where the money was for he went directly up the stairs, but that is two hours ago or more. Why didn't he get the money if he was here and get away? He may have had trouble with the combination. Perhaps, anyhow, he was on the staircase when Dick Fleming started up, and of course he shot him. That's clear enough. Then he finally got the safe open after locking us in below, and my coming up interrupted him. How on earth did he get out on the roof? Bailey glanced out the window. It would be possible from here. Possible, but not easy. But if he could do that, she persisted, he could have got away too. There are trellises and porches. Instead of that, he came back here to this room. She stared at the window. Could a man have done that with one hand? Never in the world. Saying nothing but deeply thoughtful, Miss Cornelia made a fresh progress around the room. I know very little about bank currency, she said finally. Could such a sum as was looted from the Union Bank be carried in a man's pocket? Bailey considered the question. Even in bills of large denomination, it would make a pretty sizable bundle, he said. But that Miss Cornelia's deductions were correct, whatever they were, was in question when Lizzie returned with the elderberry wine. Apparently Miss Cornelia was to be like the man who repaired the clock. She still had certain things left over. For Lizzie announced that the unknown was ranging the second floor hall. From the time they had escaped from the living room, this man had not been seen or thought of, but that he was a part of this mystery there could be no doubt. It flashed over Miss Cornelia that, although he could not possibly have locked them in in the darkness that followed, he could easily have fastened the bat to the door. For the first time it occurred to her that the arch-criminal might not be working alone, and that the entrance of the unknown might have been a carefully devised ruse to draw them all together and hold them there. Nor was Beresford's arrival with a statement that the unknown was moving through the house below, particularly comforting. He may be dazed or he may not, he said. Personally, this is not a time to trust anybody. Beresford knew nothing of what had just occurred, and now seeing Bailey, he favored him with an ugly glance. In the absence of Anderson, Bailey, he added, I don't propose to trust you too far. I'm making it my business from now on to see that you don't try to get away. Get that? But Bailey heard him without particular resentment. All right, he said, but I'll tell you this. Anderson is here and has arrested the doctor. Keep your eye on me if you think it's your duty. But don't talk to me as if I were a criminal. You don't know that yet. The doctor, Beresford gasped. But Miss Cornelia's keen ears had heard a sound outside and her eyes were focused on the door. That doorknob is moving, she said in a hushed voice. Beresford moved to the door and jerked it open violently. The butler, Billy, almost pitched into the room. End of Chapter 17. Recording by Alan Winterout. boomcoach.blogspot.com Chapter 18 of The Bat. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Alan Winterout. The Bat by Mary Robert Schreinhardt. Chapter 18. The Bat still flies. He stepped back in the doorway, looked out, then turned to them again. I come in please. He said pathetically his hands quivering. I not like to stay in dark. Miss Cornelia took pity on him. Come in Billy of course. What is it? Anything the matter? Billy glanced about nervously. Man with sore head. What about him? Act very strange. Again Billy's slim hands trembled. Beresford broke in. The man who fell into the room downstairs. Billy nodded. Yes, on second floor walking about. Beresford smiled a bit smugly. I told you, he said to Miss Cornelia. I didn't think he was as dazed as he pretended to be. Miss Cornelia too had been pondering the problem of the unknown. She reached a swift decision. If he were what he pretended to be, a dazed wanderer, he could do them no harm. If he were not, a little strategy properly employed might unravel the whole mystery. Bring him up here Billy, she said, turning to the butler. Billy started to obey. But the darkness of the corridor seemed to appall him anew the moment he took a step toward it. You give candle please, he asked with a pleading expression. Don't like dark. Miss Cornelia handed him one of the two precious candles. Then his present terror reminded her of that one other occasion when she had seen him lose completely his stoic oriental calm. Billy, she queried. What did you see when you came running down the stairs before we were locked in down below? The candle shook like a reed in Billy's grasp. Nothing, he gasped, with obvious untruth. Though it did not seem so much as if he wished to conceal what he had seen, as that he was trying to convince himself he had seen nothing. Nothing, said Lizzie scornfully. It was some nothing that would make him drop a bottle of whiskey. But Billy only back toward the door smiling apologetically. Thought I saw ghosts, he said, and went out and down the stairs, the candlelight flickering, growing fainter, and finally disappearing. Silence and eerie darkness enveloped them all as they waited, and suddenly out of the blackness came a sound. Something was flapping and thumping around the room. That's damned odd, muttered Beresford uneasily. There is something moving around the room. It's up near the ceiling, cried Billy, as the sound began again. Lizzie began a slow wail of doom and disaster. Good God! cried Beresford abruptly. It hit me in the face. He slapped his hands together in a vain attempt to capture the flying intruder. Lizzie rose. I'm going, she announced. I don't know where, but I'm going. She took a wild step in the direction of the door. Then the flapping noise was all about her. Her hair was bumped by an invisible object, and she gave a horrified shriek. It's in my hair, she screamed madly. It's in my hair. The next instant, Bailey gave a triumphant cry. I've got it. It's a bat. Lizzie sank to her knees, still moaning, and Bailey carried the cause of the trouble over to the window and threw it out. But the result of the absurd incident was a further destruction of their morale. Even Beresford, so far calm with the quiet of the virtuous onlooker, was now pallid in the light of the matches they successively lighted. And onto this strange situation came at last Billy and the unknown. The unknown still wore his air of dazed bewilderment, true or feigned, but at least he was now able to walk without support. They stared at him, at his tattered, muddy garments, at the threads of rope still clinging to his ankles and wondered. He returned their stairs vacantly. Come in, began Miss Cornelia, sit down. He obeyed both commands docilely enough. Are you better now? Somewhat. His words still came very slowly. Billy, you can go. I stay, please, said Billy wistfully, making no movement to leave. His gesture toward the darkness of the corridor spoke louder than words. Bailey watched him, suspicion dawning in his eyes. He could not account for the butler's inexplicable terror of being left alone. Anderson intimated that the doctor had an accomplice in this house, he said, crossing to Billy and taking him by the arm. Why isn't this the man? Billy cringed away. Please, no, he begged pitifully. Bailey turned him around so he faced the hidden room. Did you know that room was here, he questioned. His doubts still unquieted. Billy shook his head. No. He couldn't have locked us in, said Miss Cornelia. He was with us. He was with us. Bailey demurred not to her remark itself, but to its implication of Billy's entire innocence. He may know who did it, do you? Billy still shook his head. Bailey remained unconvinced. Who did you see at the head of the small staircase he queried imperatively? Now we're through with nonsense. I want the truth. Billy shivered. See face, that's all. He brought out at last. Who's face? Again it was evident that Billy knew or thought he knew more than he was willing to tell. Don't know. He said with obvious untruth, looking down at the floor. Never mind Billy, cut in Miss Cornelia. To her mind, questioning Billy was wasting time. She looked at the unknown. Solved the mystery of this man and we may get at the facts, she said in accents of conviction. As Bailey turned toward her questioningly, Billy attempted to steal silently out the door, apparently preferring any fears that might lurk in the darkness of the corridor to a further grilling on the subject of whom or what he had seen on the alcove stairs. But Bailey caught the movement out of the tail of his eye. You stay here, he commanded. Billy stood frozen. Barrisford raised the candle so that it cast its light full in the unknown's face. This chap claims to have lost his memory, he said dubiously. I suppose a blow on the head might do that, I don't know. I wish somebody would knock me on the head. I'd like to forget a few things, moaned Lizzie, but the interruption went unreguarded. Don't you even know your name, queried Miss Cornelia of the unknown? The unknown shook his head with a slow, laborious gesture. Not yet. Or where you come from? Once more the battered head made its movement of negation. Do you remember how you got in this house? The unknown made an effort. Yes, I remember that all right. He said, apparently undergoing an enormous strain in order to make himself speak at all. He put his hand to his head. My head aches to beat the band, he continued slowly. Miss Cornelia was at a loss. If this were acting, it was at least fine acting. How did you happen to come to this house? She persisted, her voice unconsciously tuning itself to the slow, laborious speech of the unknown. Saw the lights. Bailey broke in with a question. Where were you when you saw the lights? The unknown wet his lips with his tongue painfully. I broke out of the garage, he said at length. This was unexpected. A general movement of interest ran over the group. How did you get there? Beresford took his turn as questioner. The unknown shook his head, so slowly and deliberately that Miss Cornelia's fingers itched to shake him in spite of his injuries. I don't know. Have you been robbed, queried Bailey with keen suspicion? The unknown mumbled something unintelligible. Then he seemed to get command of his tongue again. Everything gone, out of my pockets, he said. Including your watch, pursued Bailey, remembering the watch that Beresford had found in the grounds. The unknown would neither affirm nor deny. If I had a watch, it's gone, he said with maddening deliberation. All my papers are gone. Miss Cornelia pounced upon this last statement like a cat upon a mouse. How do you know you had papers, she asked sharply. For the first time, the faintest flicker of a smile seemed to appear for a moment on the unknown's features. Then it vanished as abruptly as it had come. Most men carry papers, don't they? He asked, staring blindly in front of him. I'm dazed, but my mind's all right. If you ask me, I think I'm damned funny. He gave the ghost of a chuckle. Bailey and Beresford exchanged glances. Did you ring the house phone? Insisted Miss Cornelia. The unknown nodded, yes. Miss Cornelia and Bailey gave each other a look of wonderment. I leaned against the button in the garage, he went on. Then I think, maybe I fainted. That's not clear. His eyelids drooped, he seemed about to faint again. Dale rose and came over to him with a sympathetic movement of her hand. You don't remember how you were hurt? She asked gently. The unknown stared ahead of him, his eyes filming as if he were trying to puzzle it out. No, he said at last. The first thing I remember, I was in the garage, tied. He moved his lips. I was gagged, too. That's what's the matter with my tongue now. Then I got myself free and got out of a window. Miss Cornelia made a movement to question him further. Beresford stopped her with his hand uplifted. Just a moment, Miss Van Warder, Anderson ought to know of this. He started for the door without perceiving the flash of keen intelligence and alertness that had lit the unknown's countenance for an instant, as once before at the mention of the detective's name. But just as he reached the door, the detective entered. He halted for a moment, staring at the strange figure of the unknown. A new element in our mystery, Mr. Anderson, said Miss Cornelia, remembering that the detective might not have heard of the mysterious stranger before, as he had been locked in the billiard room when the latter had made his queer entrance. The detective and the unknown gazed at each other for a moment, the unknown with his old expression of vacant stupidity. Quite dazed, poor fellow, Miss Cornelia went on. Beresford added other words of explanation. He doesn't remember what happened to him. Curious, isn't it? The detective still seemed puzzled. How did he get into the house? He came through the terrace door some time ago, answered Miss Cornelia, just before we were locked in. Her answers seemed to solve the problem to Anderson's satisfaction. Doesn't remember anything, eh? he said dryly. He crossed over to the mysterious stranger, and put his hand under the unknown's chin, jerking his head up roughly. Look up here, he commanded. The unknown stared at him for an instant, with blank, vacuous eyes. Then his head dropped back upon his breast again. Look up, you, muttered the detective, jerking his head again. This losing-your-memory stuff doesn't go down with me, his eyes bored into the unknowns. It doesn't go down very well with me either, said the unknown weakly, making no movement of protest against Anderson's rough handling. Did you ever see me before, demanded the latter? Beresford held the candle closer so that he might watch the unknown's face for any involuntary movement of betrayal. But the unknown made no such movement. He gazed at Anderson, apparently with a greatest bewilderment. Then his eyes cleared. He seemed to be about to remember who the detective was. You're the doctor I saw downstairs, aren't you? He said innocently. The detective set his jaw. He started off on a new tack. Does this belong to you? he said suddenly, plucking from his pocket the battered gold watch that Beresford had found and waving it before the unknown's blank face. The unknown stared at it a moment, as a child might stare at a new toy with no gleam of recognition. Then, maybe, he admitted, I don't know. His voice trailed off. He fell back against Bailey's arm. Miss Cornelia gave a little shiver. The third degree in reality was less pleasant to watch than it had been to read about in the pages of her favorite detective stories. He's evidently been attacked, she said, turning to Anderson. He claims to have recovered consciousness in the garage, where he was tied hand and foot. He does, eh? said the detective heavily. He glared at the unknown. If you'll give me five minutes alone with him, I'll get the truth out of him, he promised. A look of swift alarm swept over the unknown's face at the words, unperceived by any except Miss Cornelia. The others started obediently to yield to the detective's behest and leave him alone with his prisoner. Miss Cornelia was the first to move toward the door. On her way, she turned. Do you believe that money is irrevocably gone? She asked of Anderson. The detective smiled. There's no such word as irrevocable in my vocabulary, he answered. But I believe it's out of the house, if that's what you mean. Miss Cornelia still hesitated on the verge of departure. Suppose I tell you that there are certain facts that you have overlooked, she said slowly. Still on the trail, muttered the detective sardonically. He did not even glance at her. He seemed only anxious that the other members of the group would get out of his way for once and leave him a clear field for his work. I was right about the doctor, wasn't I? She insisted. Just 50% right, said Anderson crushingly. And the doctor didn't turn that trick alone. Now, he went on with weary patience. If you'll all go out and close that door. Miss Cornelia defeated, took a candle from Bailey and stepped into the corridor. Her figure stiffened. She gave an audible gasp of dismayed surprise. Quick, she cried, turning back to the others and gesturing towards the corridor. A man just went through that skylight and out onto the roof. End of Chapter 18. Recording by Alan Winteroud. Boomcoach.blogspot.com Chapter 19 of The Bat. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Alan Winteroud. The Bat by Mary Robert Schreinhart. Chapter 19. Murder on Murder. Out on the roof. Come on, Beresford. Hustle, you men. He may be armed. Right-o, coming. And following Miss Cornelia's lead, Jack Bailey, Anderson, Beresford and Bailey dashed out into the corridor, leaving Dale and the frightened Lizzie alone with the unknown. And I'd run if my legs would, Lizzie, disbared. Hush, said Dale. Her ears strained for sounds of conflict. Lizzie, creeping closer to her for comfort, stumbled over one of the unknown's feet and promptly set up a new wail. How do we know this fellow right here isn't the Bat? She asked in a blood-chilling whisper, nearly stabbing the unfortunate unknown in the eye with her thumb as she pointed at him. The unknown was either too dazed or too crafty to make any answer. His silence confirmed Lizzie's worst suspicions. She fairly hugged the door and began to pray in a whisper. Miss Cornelia re-entered cautiously with her candle, closing the door gently behind her as she came. What did you see, gaffed Dale? Miss Cornelia smiled broadly. I didn't see anything, she admitted with the greatest calm. I had to get that dratted detective out of the room before I assassinated him. Nobody went through the skylight, said Dale incredulously. They have now, answered Miss Cornelia with obvious satisfaction. The whole outfit of them. She stole a glance at the veiled eyes of the unknown. He was lying limply back in his chair, as if the excitement had been too much for him. And yet she could have sworn she had seen him leap to his feet, like a man in full possession of his faculties when she had given her false cry of alarm. Then why did you, began Dale daisedly, unable to fathom her aunt's reason for her trick? Because, interrupted Miss Cornelia decidedly, that money's in this room. If the man who took it out of the safe got away with it, why did he come back and hide here? Her forefinger jabbed at the hidden chamber, wherein the masked intruder had terrified Dale with threats of instant death. He got it out of that safe, and that's as far as he did get with it, she persisted inexorably. There's a hat behind that safe. A man's felt hat. So this was the discovery she had hinted of to Anderson, before he rebuffed her proffer of assistance. Oh, I wish he'd take his hat and go home, groaned Lizzie, inattentive to all but her own fears. Miss Cornelia did not even bother to rebuke her. She crossed behind the wicker clothes hamper, and picked up something from the floor. A half-burned candle she mused. Another thing the detective overlooked. She stepped back to the center of the room, looking knowingly from the candle to the hidden room and back again. Oh my god, another one! Shrieked Lizzie as the dark shape of a man appeared suddenly outside the window, as if materialized from the air. Miss Cornelia snatched up her revolver from the top of the hamper. Don't shoot, it's Jack! came a warning cry from Dale as she recognized the figure of her lover. Miss Cornelia laid her revolver down on the hamper again. The vacant eyes of the unknown caught the movement. Bailey swung in through the window, panting a little from his exertions. The man Lizzie saw drop from the skylight. Undoubtedly got to the room from this window, he said. It's quite easy. But not with one hand, said Miss Cornelia, with her gaze now directed at the row of tall closets around the walls of the room. When that detective comes back, I may have a surprise party for him, she muttered, with a gleam of hope in her eye. Dale explained the situation to Jack. Aunt Cornelia thinks the money's still here. Miss Cornelia snorted, I know it's here. She started to open the closet, one after the other, beginning at the left. Bailey saw what she was doing and began to help her. Not so Lizzie. She sat on the floor in a heap, her eyes riveted on the unknown, who in his turn was gazing at Miss Cornelia's revolver on the hamper with the intense stare of a baby or an idiot fascinated by a glittering piece of glass. Dale noticed the curious tableau. Lizzie, what are you looking at? She said with a nervous shake in her voice. What's he looking at? Asked Lizzie subpulchrally, pointing at the unknown. Her pointed forefinger drew his eyes away from the revolver. He sank back into his former apathy, listless, drooping. Miss Cornelia rattled the knob of a high closet by the other wall. This one is locked and the key's gone, she announced. A new flicker of interest grew in the eyes of the unknown. Lizzie glanced away from him, terrified. If there's anything locked up in that closet, she whimpered, you better let it stay. There's enough running loose in this house as it is. Unfortunately for her, her whimper drew Miss Cornelia's attention upon her. Lizzie, did you ever take that key? The latter queried sternly. No, said Lizzie. Too scared to dissimulate if she had wished. She wagged her head violently a dozen times, like a china figure on a mantelpiece. Miss Cornelia pondered. It may be locked from the inside, I'll soon find out. She took a wire hairpin from her hair and pushed it through the keyhole. But there was no key on the other side. The hairpin went through without obstruction. Repeated efforts to jerk the door open failed. And finally Miss Cornelia bethought herself of a key from the other closet doors. Dale and Lizzie on one side, Bailey on the other, collected the keys of the other closets from their locks, while Miss Cornelia stared at the one whose doors were closed as if she would force its secret from it with her eyes. The unknown had been so quiet during the last few minutes that unconsciously, the others had ceased to pay much attention to him, except the casual attention one devotes to a piece of furniture. Even Lizzie's eyes were now fixed on the lock closet, and the unknown himself was the first to notice this. At once his expression altered to one of cunning. Cautiously, with infinite patience, he began to inch his chair over toward the wicker clothes hamper. The noise of the others, moving about the room, drowned out what little he made in moving his chair. At last he was within reach of the revolver. His hand shot out in one swift, senuous thrust, clutched the weapon with drew. Then he concealed the revolver among his tattered garments as best he could, and cautiously as before, inched his chair back again to its original position. When the others noticed him again, the mask of lifelessness was back on his face, and one could have sworn he had not changed his position by the breadth of an inch. There, that unlocked it, cried Miss Cornelia triumphantly at last, as the key to one of the other closet doors slid smoothly into the lock, and she heard the click that meant victory. She was about to throw open the closet door, but Bailey motioned her back. I'd keep back a little, he cautioned. You don't know what may be inside. Mercy sakes, who wants to know, shivered Lizzie. Dale and Miss Cornelia, too, stepped aside involuntarily as Bailey took the candle and prepared, with a great deal of caution, to open the closet door. The door swung open at last. He could look in. He did so, and stared appalled at what he saw, while goose flesh crawled on his spine and the hairs of his head stood up. After a moment, he closed the door of the closet and turned back, white-faced to the others. What is it? said Dale aghast. What did you see? Bailey found himself unable to answer for a moment. Then he pulled himself together. He turned to Miss Van Gorder. Miss Cornelia, I think we may have found the ghost the Jack Butler saw, he said slowly. How are your nerves? Miss Cornelia extended a hand that did not tremble. Give me the candle. He did so. She went to the closet and opened the door. Whatever faults Miss Cornelia may have had, lack of courage was not one of them, or the ability to withstand a stunning mental shock. Had it been otherwise, she might well have crumpled to the floor, as if struck down by an invisible hammer, the moment the closet door swung open before her. Huddled on the floor of the closet was the body of a man. So crudely had he been crammed into the hiding place that he lay twisted and bent. And as if to add to the horror of the moment, one arm, released from its confinement, now slipped and slid out into the floor of the room. Miss Cornelia's voice sounded strange to her own ears when finally she spoke. But who is it? It is, or was, courtly Fleming, said Bailey Dully. But how can it be? Mr. Fleming died two weeks ago. He died in this house sometime tonight. The body is still warm. But who killed him, the bat? Isn't it likely that the doctor did it? The man who has been as a compass all along, who probably bought a cadaver out west and buried it with honors here not long ago. He spoke without bitterness. Whatever resentment he might have felt died in that awful presence. He got into the house early tonight, he said, probably with the doctor's connivance. That wristwatch there is probably the luminous eye Lizzie thought she saw. But Miss Cornelia's face was still thoughtful, and he went on. Isn't it clear, Miss Van Gorder? He queried with a smile. The doctor and old Mr. Fleming formed a conspiracy. Both needed money, lots of it. Fleming was to rob the bank and hide the money here. Wells' part was to issue a false death certificate in the West and bury a substitute body, secured God knows how. It was easy. It kept the name of the President of the Union Bank free from suspicion, and it put the blame on me. He paused, thinking it out. Only they slipped up in one place. Dick Fleming leased the house to you, and they couldn't get it back. Then you are sure, said Miss Cornelia quickly, that tonight courtly Fleming broke in with the doctor's assistance and that he killed Dick his own nephew from the staircase? Aren't you, asked Bailey surprised? The more he thought of it, the less clearly could he visualize it any other way. Miss Cornelia shook her head decidedly. No. Bailey thought her merely obstinate, unwilling to give up for pride's sake, her own pet theory of the activities of the bat. Wells tried to get out of the house tonight with that blueprint. Why? Because he knew the moment we got it, we'd come up here and Fleming was here. Perfectly true, not of Miss Cornelia. And then? Old Fleming killed Dick and Wells killed Fleming, said Bailey succinctly. You can't get away from it. But Miss Cornelia still shook her head. The explanation was too mechanical. It laid too little emphasis on the characters of those most concerned. No, she said, no. The doctor isn't a murderer. He's as puzzled as we are about some things. He and courtly Fleming were working together, but remember this, Dr. Wells was locked in the living room with us. He'd been trying to get up the stairs all evening and failed every time. But Bailey was as convinced of the truth of his theory as she of hers. He was here ten minutes ago, locked in this room, he said, with a glance at the ladder up which the doctor had ascended. I'll grant you that, said Miss Cornelia, but she thought back swiftly. But at the same time an unknown masked man was locked in that mantle room with Dale. The doctor put out the candle when you opened that hidden room. Why? Because he thought courtly Fleming was hiding there. Now the missing pieces of her puzzle were falling into their places with a vengeance. But at this moment, she continued, the doctor believes that Fleming has made his escape. No, we haven't solved the mystery yet. There's another element, an unknown element. Her eyes rested for a moment upon the unknown. And that element is the bat. She paused impressively. The others stared at her, no longer able to deny the sinister plausibility of her theory. But this new tangling of the mystery, just when the black thread seemed ravelled out at last, was almost too much for Dale. Oh, call the detective, she stammered, on the verge of hysterical tears. Let's get through with this thing, I can't bear anymore. But Miss Cornelia did not even hear her. Her mind strung now to concert pitch, had harked back to the point it had reached some time ago, and which all the recent distractions had momentarily obliterated. Had the money been taken out of the house, or had it not? In that mad rush for escape, had the man hidden with Dale in the recess, back of the mantle, carried his booty with him, or left it behind? It was not in the hidden room, that was certain. Yet she was so hopeless by that time, that her first search was purely perfunctory. During her progress about the room, the unknown's eyes followed her, but so still had he sat, so amazing had been the discovery of the body, that no one any longer observed him. Now and then his head drooped forward, as if actual weakness was almost overpowering him, but his eyes were keen and observant, and he was no longer taking the trouble to act, if he had been acting. It was when Bailey finally opened the lid of a clothes hamper, that they stumbled on their first clue. Nothing here but some clothes and books, he said, glancing inside. Books, said Miss Cornelia Dubiously. I left no books in that hamper. Bailey picked up one of the cheap paper novels and read its title aloud with a wry smile. Little Rosebud's Lover or the Cruel Revenge by Laura Jean. That's mine, said Lizzie Promptley. Oh Miss Neely, I tell you this house is haunted. I left that book in my satchel along with wedded but no wife, and now where's your satchel? snapped Miss Cornelia, her eyes gleaming. Where's my satchel? mumbled Lizzie, staring about as best she could. I don't see it. If that wretch has stolen my satchel, where did you leave it? Up here, right in this room, it was a new satchel too. I'll have the law on him. That's what I'll do. Isn't that your satchel, Lizzie? asked Miss Cornelia, indicating a battered bag in a dark corner of shadows above the window. Yes, um, she admitted, but she did not dare approach very close to the recovered bag. It might bite her. Put it there on the hamper, ordered Miss Cornelia. I'm scared to touch it, moaned Lizzie. It may have a bomb in it. She took up the bag between finger and thumb and, holding with the care, she would have bestowed upon a bottle of nitroglycerin, carried it over to the hamper and set it down. Then she backed away from it, ready to leap for the door at a moment's warning. Miss Cornelia started for the satchel. Then she remembered she turned to Bailey. You open it, she said graciously. If the money's there, you're the one who ought to find it. Bailey gave her a look of gratitude, then smiling at Dale encouragingly, he crossed over to the satchel. Dale let his heels. Miss Cornelia watched him fumble at the catch of the bag. Even Lizzie drew closer. For a moment, even the unknown was forgotten. Bailey gave a triumphant cry. The money's here. Oh, thank God! sobbed Dale. It was an emotional moment. It seemed to have penetrated even through the haze enveloping the injured man in his chair. Slowly he got up, like a man who has been waiting for his moment. And now that it had come was in no hurry about it. With equal deliberation, he drew the revolver and took a step forward. And at that instant, a red glare appeared outside the open window, and overhead could be heard the feet of the searchers running. Fire screamed Lizzie, pointing to the window, even as Barrister's voice from the roof rang out in a shout. The garage is burning. They turned toward the door to escape, but a strange and menacing figure blocked their way. It was the unknown, no longer the bewildered stranger who had stumbled in through the living room door, but a man with every faculty of mind and body alert and the light of a deadly purpose in his eyes. He covered the group with Miss Cornelia's revolver. This door is locked and the key is in my pocket. He said in a savage voice as the red light at the window grew yet more vivid, and muffled cries and tramplings from overhead be tokened universal confusion and alarm. End of chapter 19. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Alan Winteroud. The Bat by Mary Robert Reinhart. Chapter 20. He is the Bat. Lizzie opened her mouth to scream, but for once she did not carry out her purpose. Not a sound out of you, warned the unknown brutally, almost jabbing the revolver into her ribs. He wheeled on Bailey. Close that satchel, he commanded, and put it back where you found it. Bailey's fist closed. He took a step toward his captor. You! He began in a furious voice. But the steely glint in the eyes of the unknown was enough to give any man pause. Jack! pleaded Dale. Bailey halted. To what he tells you, Miss Cornelia insisted, her voice shaking. A brave man may be willing to fight with odds a hundred to one, but only a fool will rush on certain death. Reluctantly, dejectedly, Bailey obeyed. Stuffed the money back in the satchel, and replaced the ladder in its corner of shadows near the window. It's the Bat! It's the Bat! whispered Lizzie eerily. And for once her gloomy prophecies seemed to be in a fair way of justification. For, blow out that candle, commanded the unknown sternly. And after a moment of hesitation on Miss Cornelia's part, the room was again plunged in darkness, except for the red glow at the window. This finished Lizzie for the evening. She spoke from a dry throat. I'm going to scream, she sobbed hysterically. I can't keep it back! But at last she had encountered someone who had no patience with her vagaries. Put that woman in the mantel room and shut her up, ordered the unknown, the muzzle of his revolver emphasizing his words with a savage little movement. Bailey took Lizzie under the arms and started to execute the order. But the sometimes culline from Carrie did not depart without one Parthian arrow. Don't shove, she said in tones of the greatest dignity, as she stumbled into the hidden room. I'm damn glad to go! The iron doors shut behind her. Bailey watched the unknown intently. One moment of relaxed vigilance and… But though the unknown was unlocking the door with his left hand, the revolver in his right hand was as steady as a rock. He seemed to listen for a moment at the crack of the door. Not a sound if you value your lives, he warned again. He shepherded them away from the direction of the window with his revolver. In a moment or two, he said in a hushed, taut voice, a man will come into this room, either through the door or by that window, the man who started the fire to draw you out of this house. Bailey threw aside all pride in his concern for Dale's safety. For God's sake, don't keep these women here, he pleaded in low, tense tones. The unknown seemed to tower above him like a destroying angel. Keep them here where we can watch them, he whispered with fearsome patience. Don't you understand, there's a killer loose. And so for a moment they stood there, waiting for they knew not what. So Swift had been the transition from joy to deadly terror, and now to suspense, that only Miss Cornelia's agile brain seemed able to respond. And at first it did even that very slowly. I begin to understand, she said in a low voice. The man who struck you down and tied you in the garage. The man who killed Dick Fleming and stabbed that poor wretch in the closet. The man who locked us in downstairs and removed the money from that safe. The man who started the fire outside is, shh, warned the unknown imperatively, as the sound from the direction of the window seemed to reach his ears. He ran quickly back to the corridor and locked it. Stand back out of that light, the ladder. Miss Cornelian Dale shrank back against the mantle. Bailey took up a post beside the window, the unknown flattening himself against the wall beside him. There was a breathless pause. The top of the extension ladder began to tremble. A black box stood clearly outlined against the diminishing red glow. The bat masked and sinister on his last foray. There was no sound as the killer stepped into the room. He waited for a second that seemed a year, still no sound. Then he turned cautiously towards the place where he had left the satchel. The beam of his flashlight picked it out. In an instant the unknown and Bailey were upon him. There was a short ferocious struggle in the darkness, a gasp of laboring lungs, the thud of fighting bodies clenched in a death grapple. Get his gun, muttered the unknown hoarsely to Bailey as he tore the bat's lean hands away from his throat. Got it? Yes, gasp Bailey. He jabbed the muzzle against a straining bat. The bat ceased to struggle. Bailey stepped a little away. I've still got you covered, he said fiercely. The bat made no sounds. Hold out your hands, bat, while I put on the bracelets. Commander the unknown in tones of terse triumph. He snapped the steel cuffs on the wrists of the murderous prowler. Sometimes even the cleverest bat comes through a window at night and is caught. Double murder, burglary and arson. That's a good night's work even for you, bat. He switched his flashlight on the bat's masked face. As he did so, the house lights came on. The electric light company had at last remembered its duties. All blinked for an instant in the sudden illumination. Take off that handkerchief, barked the unknown, motioning at the black silk handkerchief that still hid the face of the bat from recognition. Bailey stripped it from the haggard desperate features of the quick movement and stood appalled. A simultaneous gasp went up from Dale and Miss Cornelia. It was Anderson the detective and he was the bat? It's Mr. Anderson, stuttered Dale, aghast at the discovery. The unknown gloated over his captive. I am Anderson, he said. This man has been impersonating me. You're a good actor, bat, for a fellow that's such a bad actor, he taunted. How did you get the dope on this case? Did you tap the wires to headquarters? The bat allowed himself a little sardonic smile. I'll tell you that when I, he began. Then suddenly made his last bid for freedom. With one swift desperate movement in spite of his handcuffs, he jerked the real Anderson revolver from him by the barrel. Then wheeling with lightning rapidity on Bailey, brought the butt of Anderson revolver down on his wrist. Bailey's revolver fell to the floor with a clatter. The bat swung toward the door, again the tables returned. Hands up everybody, he ordered. Menacing the group with a stolen pistol. Hands up you, as Miss Cornelia kept her hands at her side. It was the greatest moment of Miss Cornelia's life. She smiled sweetly and came toward the bat, as if the pistol aimed at her heart were as innocuous as a toothbrush. Why, she queried mildly. I took the bullets out of that revolver two hours ago. The bat flung the revolver toward her with a curse. The real Anderson instantly snatched up the gun that Bailey had dropped and covered the bat. Don't move, he warned, or I'll fill you full of lead. He smiled out of the corner of his mouth at Miss Cornelia, who was primarily picking up the revolver that the bat had flung at her, her own revolver. You see, you never know what a woman will do, he continued. Miss Cornelia smiled. She broke open the revolver. Five loaded shells fell from it to the floor. The bat stared at her, then stared incredulously at the bullets. You see, she said, I too have a little imagination. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Alan Winterout. The bat by Mary Roberts Reinhart. Chapter 21. Quite a Collection. An hour or so later in a living room whose terrorists had departed, Miss Cornelia, her niece, and Jack Bailey were gathered before a roaring fire. The local police had come and gone. The bodies of courtly Fleming and his nephew had been removed to the mortuary. Barris Furti returned to his home, though under summons as a material witness. The bat under heavy guard had gone off under charge of the detective. As for Dr. Wells, he too was under arrest. And a broken man, though, considering the fact that courtly Fleming had been throughout the prime mover in the conspiracy, he might escape with a comparatively light sentence. In a little while, the newspaper men of all the great journals would be at the door. But for a moment, the sorely tried group at Cedar Crest enjoyed a temporary respite, and they made the best of it while they could. The fire burned brightly and the lovers hand in hand sat before it. But Miss Cornelia, birdlike and brisk, set upright on a chair nearby and relived the greatest triumph of her life while she knitted with automatic precision. Knit two, pearl two, she would say, and then would wander once more back to the subject in hand. Out behind the flower garden, the ruins of the garage and her beloved car were still smoldering. A cool night wind came through the broken window pane, where not so long before the bloody hand of the injured detective had intruded itself. On the door to the hall, still fastened as the bat had left it, was the pathetic little creature with which the bat had signed a job, for once before he had completed it. But calmly and dispassionately, Miss Cornelia worked out the crossword puzzle of the evening and announced her results. It is all clear, she said. Of course the doctor had the blueprint, and the bat tried to get it from him. That's when the doctor had stunned him and locked him in the billiard room. The bat still had the key and unlocked his own handcuffs. After that, he had only to get out of a window and shut us in here. And again, he had probably trailed the real detective all the way from town and attacked him where Mr. Beresford found the watch. Once too, she hearkened back to the anonymous letters. It must have been a blow to the doctor and courtly Fleming when they found me settled in the house, she smiled grimly, and when their letters failed to dislodge me. But it was the bat who held her interest. His daring assumption of the detective's identity, his searching of the house ostensibly for their safety, but in reality for the treasure, and that one moment of irresolution when he did not shoot the doctor at the top of the ladder, and thereafter lost his chance. He had somehow weakened her terrified admiration for him, but she had nothing but a claim for the escape he had made from the hidden room itself. That took brains, she said, cold hard brains. To dash out of that room and down the stairs, pull off his mask and pick up a candle, and then to come calmly back to the trunk room again and accuse the doctor. That took real ability. But I dread to think what would have happened when he asked us all to go out and leave him alone with the real Anderson. It was after two o'clock, when she finally sent the young people off to some needed sleep, but she herself was still bright-eyed and wide awake. When Lizzie came at last to coax and scold her into bed, she was sitting happily at the table, surrounded by diverse small articles which she was handling with an almost childlike zest. A clipping about the bat from the evening newspaper. A small piece of paper on which was a well-defined fingerprint. A revolver and a heap of five shells. A small, very dead bat. The anonymous warnings including the stone in which the last one had been wrapped. A battered and broken watch somehow left behind. A dried and broken dinner roll and the box of sedative powders brought by Dr. Wells. Lizzie came over to the table and surveyed her grimly. You see, Lizzie, it's quite a collection. I'm going to take them and... But Lizzie bent over the table and picked up the box of powders. No, ma'am, she said with extreme finality. You are not! You are going to take these and go to bed! And Miss Cornelia did. End of Chapter 21. Recording by Alan Winteroud. Boomcoach.blogspot.com End of The Bat by Mary Robert Reinhardt.