"Most simple, Mrs. Cook. Before you go, you, of course, want to bid
Miss Gardner good-bye. Just request the lady in black in there with
the reporters to tell Miss Gardner that you want to speak to her and
will be waiting in the library. When you've said that, you've earned
the money. Then just watch your chance until the somber lady isn't
looking, and continue with your original plan of leaving the house."

"Perhaps it will work," hesitated the cook. But with a gesture in
which there was no hesitation she slipped her minute's pay between the
buttons of her waist.

The young gentleman went lightly and swiftly up the stairs and through
the mahogany door that had been pointed out to him. Curiously he
looked about the spacious, dark-toned room of splendid dignity. He had
the ease of the man to whom the world is home, and seemed not one
whit abashed by the exclusive grandeur of the great chamber. With a
watchful eye on the door, he glanced at the rows and rows of volumes:
well-bred authors whom time had elevated to a place among literary
"old families." Also he examined some old Chinese ivory carvings with
a critical, valuating, meditative eye. Also in passing--and this he
did absently, as one might do from habit--he tried the knob of a big
safe, but it was locked.

The next moment there was a sound at the door. Instantly he was out
of sight behind the brown velvet hangings of a recessed French window.
Miss Gardner entered, saw upon the embarrassed edges of none of the
shrouded chairs a plump and short-breathed Susan. Surprised, she was
turning to leave when a cautious but clear whisper floated across the
room.