CHAPTER TWELVE.
"I DIDN'T KILL HIM." "The rest of it ?" queried Dale with a show of bewilderment, silently thanking her stars that, for the moment at least, the incriminating fragment had passed out of her possession.
Her reply seemed only to infuriate the detective.
"Don't tell me Fleming started to go out of this house with a blank scrap of paper in his hand," he threatened.

"He didn't start to go out at all!" Dale rose.

Was Anderson trying a chance shot in the dark--or had he stumbled upon some fresh evidence against her?
She could not tell from his manner.
"Why do you say that ?" she feinted.
"His cap's there on that table," said the detective with crushing terseness.

Dale started.

She had not remembered the cap--why hadn't she burned it, concealed it--as she had concealed the blue-print?
She passed a hand over her forehead wearily.
Miss Cornelia watched her niece.
"It you're keeping anything back, Dale--tell him," she said.
"She's keeping something back all right," he said.