a punished child, and stayed a minute longer, eyes downcast,
groping after gloves and hat. "I thought maybe I'd get the answer before
you saw me--sitting up like a trained seal!"

"Like a mighty pretty little heathen idol, Bobs," Worth amended.

"Well, it's the only way I can really concentrate--effectively. But this
is the first time I've done it since--since father died."

"And never again for me, if that's the way you feel about it." Worth
crossed quickly and stood beside her, looking down. She reached a hand
to him; her eyes thanked him; but as he helped her to her feet I was
struck by a something poised and confident that she seemed to have
brought with her out of that strange state in which she had just been.

"Doesn't either of you want to hear the answer?" she asked. Then,
without waiting for reply, she started for the scuttle and the ladder,
bare headed, carrying her hat. We found her once more adjusting turban
and veil before the mirror of Clayte's dresser. She faced around, and
announced, smiling steadily across at me,

"Your man Clayte left this room while Mrs. Griggsby was kneeling almost
on its threshold--left it by that window over there. He got to the roof
by means of a rope and grappling hook. He tied the suitcase to the lower
end of the rope, swung it out of the window, went up hand over hand, and
pulled the suitcase up after him. That's the answer I got."

It was? Well, it was a beaut! Only Worth Gilbert, standing there giving
the proceeding respectability by careful attention and a grave face,
brought me down to asking with mild jocularity,

"He did? He did all that? Well, please ma'am, who locked the window
after him?"

"He locked the window after himself."

"Oh, say!" I began in exasperation--hadn't I just shown the impractical
little creature that those locks couldn't be manipulated from outside?

"Wait. Examine carefully the wooden part of the upper sash, at the
lock--again," she urged, but without making any movement to help.
"You'll find what we overlooked before; the way he locked the sash from
the outside."

I turned to the window and looked where she had said; nothing. I ran my
fingers over the painted surface of the wood, outside, opposite the
latch, and a queer, chilly feeling went down my spine. I jerked out my
knife, opened it and scraped at a tiny inequality.

"There is--is something--" I was beginning, when Worth crowded in at my
side and pushed his broad shoulders out the