Opening his wardrobe door, he found the crimson masquerade suit, which he made into a bundle carefully wrapped in brown paper and securely tied with stout cord. This bundle was hidden away beneath some underclothing in a drawer of the dresser.
“I’ll dispose of that to-night,” he muttered. “Don’t like to have stolen property on my premises. It was Ditson’s idea to rig up in those costumes. He thought it would frighten Tucker. Hanged if it didn’t seem to amuse the little fool! I’m going to quit taking the foolish advice of Ditson or anybody else. I didn’t see anything like a joke in that business. I was in earnest. But now I suppose we wasted our time. Of course this isn’t any good at all, and I may as well destroy it.”
From a pocket he produced the typewritten confession which Tucker had been forced to sign.
“No, it’s no good now,” he muttered, after reading it over. “The little rat could prove he was compelled to sign against his will. If any one tried to use this document, it would get him into a nasty scrape. This will settle it.”
In front of the fireplace he struck a match and applied the flame to one corner of the paper.
“What are you doing?” cried a voice that made him jump as if struck by a bolt.
The burning paper fluttered to the hearth, and Lynch turned a pale face toward the lad who had softly opened the door and thrust his head into the room.
“Gee!” he breathed, with mingled relief and resentment. “You gave me a jerk. What the dickens do you mean by poking your head into my room and yelling like that? Come in and shut that door.”
Bern Wolfe needed no invitation. Slamming the door behind him, he leaped toward the hearth and placed his foot on the burning paper.
“Get away! get away!” said Lynch, catching the visitor by the collar, and jerking him back. “Let it burn.”
“We had trouble enough getting that confession.”
“And now it’s destroyed!” groaned Bern, as he watched the flames char the sheet and turn it to a black film of ash, which crinkled at a breath and dissolved into fluttering fragments.
“It wasn’t any use after what happened,” declared Lynch. And he proceeded to explain his reason for thinking so. “You see,” he concluded, “that thing might have gotten me into trouble if I had kept it and any one had chanced to find it in my pocket.”