that her trunks are now at the Cunard pier. There you have the entire
story, gentlemen."

He looked down at Mrs. De Peyster. "I believe I have stated the matter
just as you outlined it to us?"

"Ye--yes," breathed Mrs. De Peyster.

"There is no detail you would like to add?"

"N--none," breathed Mrs. De Peyster.

"Then, gentlemen," said Mr. Pyecroft, turning to the reporters,
"since you have all the facts, and since Mrs. De Peyster is in a state
bordering on collapse, we would take it as a favor if--"

"No need to dismiss us," put in Mr. Mayfair. "We're in a bigger hurry
to leave than you are to have us go. God, boys," he ejaculated to his
fellows, "what a peach of a story!"

In a twinkling Mr. Mayfair and his fellows of the press had vanished,
each in the direction of a telephone over which he could hurry this
super-sensation into his office.

Within the room, all were staring at Mr. Pyecroft, as though in each
a whirling chaos were striving to shape itself into speech. But before
they could become articulate, that sober young gentleman had stepped
from out of their midst and, his back to them, was discreetly
engrossing himself in the examination of the first object that came to
his hands: which chanced to be something lying on top of the exquisite
safe--a slender platinum chain with a pendant pearl.

With him gone, all eyes fixed themselves upon Mrs. De Peyster, and
there was a profound and motionless silence in the room, save at first
for some very sincere and vigorous snuffling into the handkerchiefs
of Olivetta and Matilda. As for Mrs. De Peyster, she sat below the
awesome, imperturbable Mrs. De Peyster of the portrait, and oh, what
a change was there in the one beneath!--huddled, shaking, not a
duchess-like line to her person, her face dropped forward in her
hands.

"Mother--" Jack breathed at length.

"Caroline!" breathed Judge Harvey. Then added: "I'm sure it--it'll
never become known."

"Oh, to think it's all over--and we're out of it!" Olivetta cried
hysterically. "Oh! Oh!" And she limply pitched sidewise in her chair.

"Mees Harmon--Olivetta!" exclaimed M. Dubois. He sprang forward, knelt
at her side and supported her wilted figure against his bosom.
Upon this poultice to her troubles Olivetta relaxed and sobbed
unrestrainedly. And no one, particularly Mrs. De Peyster, paid the
least heed to this little episode.

William, the coachman, the irreproachable, irreplaceable, unbendable
William,