"In the big chimney in the library," she answered.

No one observed Breitmann's hand as it slid from the bread, some of
which was scattered upon the floor. The scars, betraying emotion such
as no mental effort could control, deepened, which is to say that the
skin above and below them had paled.

"Might it not be some trial visit of your patron saint, Santa Claus?"
he inquired, his voice well under control.

"Really, it is no jest," she affirmed. "For several nights I have
heard the noise distinctly; a muffled tapping inside the chimney."

"Suppose we inspect it after luncheon?" suggested Fitzgerald.

"It has been done," said the admiral. Outwardly he was still
skeptical, but a doubt was forming in his mind.

"It will do no harm to try it again," said Breitmann.

If Fitzgerald noted the subdued excitement in the man's voice, he
charged it to the moment.

"Take my word for it," avowed the admiral, "you will find nothing.
Bring the coffee into the library," he added to the butler.

The logs were taken out of the fireplace, and as soon as the smoke
cleared the young men gave the inside of the chimney a thorough going
over. They could see the blue sky away up above. The opening was
large, but far too small for any human being to enter down it. The