he invalid's tribulations, began now to reappear. It grew.
Mrs. De Peyster could but notice it, for he was smiling straight at
her--that queer, whimsical, twisted smile of his.

"What is it?" she felt forced to ask.

"We three are not the only ones, my dear Angelica," he replied, "who
are trying to slip one across on Mrs. De Peyster. Our friend the
cabinet-maker is on the same job. I might remark, that he's about as
much a cabinet-maker as yourself."

"What is he?"

"A detective, my dear."

"A detective!"

"The variety known as 'private,'" enlarged Mr. Pyecroft.

"What--what makes you think so?"

"Well, I felt it my duty to keep an eye on our new
guest--unobtrusively, of course. When I slipped out a little while
ago it was to watch him. He was working in the library; entirely by
accident, my dear Angelica, my eye chanced to be at the keyhole. He
was examining the drawers of the big writing-table; and not paying so
much attention to the drawers as to the letters in them. And from
the rapidity with which he was examining the letters it was plain the
cabinet-maker knew exactly what he was after."

"What--do you think--it means?" breathed Mrs. De Peyster.

"Some person is trying to get something on Mrs. De Peyster," returned
Mr. Pyecroft. "What, I don't know. But the detective party, I've
got sized up. He's one of those gracious and indispensable
noblest-works-of-God who dig up evidence for divorce trials--lay traps
for the so-called 'guilty-parties,' ransack waste-paper baskets for
incriminating scraps of letters, bribe servants--and if they find
anything, willing to blackmail either side; remarkably impartial and
above prejudice in this respect, one must admit. Altogether a most
delectable breed of gentlemen. What would our best society do without
them? And then again, what would they do without our best society?"

Mrs. De Peyster did not attempt an answer to this conjectural dilemma.

"Twin and interdependent pillars of America's shining morality,"
continued Mr. Pyecroft. "Now, like you, Angelica," he mused, "I wonder
what the detective party is after; what the lofty Lady De Peyster can
have been doing that is spicy? However," smiling at her, "Angelica, my
dear, in the words of the great and good poet, 'We should worry.'"

It was only a moment later that Matilda burst into the room and closed
the door behind her. She was almost breathless.

"He asked me for the key to"--"your" almost escaped Matilda--"to