d Lena tugging away at my arm. "If," said I to myself,
"the woman with him had been his wife and the whole thing nothing more
than a foolish escapade, they might have done this; but she was not his
wife, and the game they were playing was serious, if they did laugh over
it, and so their disposal of these tell-tale articles would be serious
and such as would protect their secret. Where, then, could they have
thrust them?"

My eyes, as I muttered this, were on the one shop in my line of vision
that was still open and lighted. It was the den of a Chinese laundryman,
and through the windows in front I could see him still at work, ironing.

"Ah!" thought I, and made such a start across the street that Lena
gasped in dismay and almost fell to the ground in her frightened attempt
to follow me.

"Not that way!" she called. "Miss Butterworth, you are going wrong."

But I kept right on, and only stopped when I reached the laundry.

"I have an errand here," I explained. "Wait in the doorway, Lena, and
don't act as if you thought me crazy, for I was never saner in my life."

I don't think this reassured her much, lunatics not being supposed to be
very good judges of their own mental condition, but she was so
accustomed to obey, that she drew back as I opened the door before me
and entered. The surprise on the face of the poor Chinaman when he
turned and saw before him a lady of years and no ordinary appearance,
daunted me for an instant. But another look only showed me that his very
surprise was inoffensive, and gathering courage from the unexpectedness
of my own position, I inquired with all the politeness I could show one
of his abominable nationality:

"Didn't a gentleman and a heavily veiled lady leave a package with you a
few days ago at about the same hour of night as this?"

"Some lalee clo' washee? Yes, ma'am. No done. She tellee me no callee
for one week."

"Then that's all right; the lady has died very suddenly, and the
gentleman gone away; you will have to keep the clothes a long time."

"Me wantee money, no wantee clo'!"

"I'll pay you for them; I don't care about them being ironed."

"Givee tickee, givee clo'! No givee tickee, no givee clo'!"

This was a poser! But as I did not want the clothes so much as a look at
them, I soon got the better of this difficulty.

"I don't want them to-night," said I. "I only wanted to make sure you
had them. What night were these people here?"

"Tuesday night, velly la