a that next to
Mrs. Gaster she was about as lavish and financially capable a
householder as could be found in the Social Capital of the United
States. As for me, I was the picture of gloom. The woman's presence in
our household could not be but a source of danger to our peace of mind
as well as to our profits, and for the life of me I could not see why
Henriette should want her there. But I was not long in finding out.

A week after Fiametta's arrival Mrs. Raffles rang hurriedly for me.

"Yes, madam," I said, responding immediately to her call.

"Bunny," she said, her hand trembling a little, "the hour for action has
arrived. I have just sent Fiametta on an errand to Providence. She will
be gone three hours."

"Yes!" said I. "What of it?"

"I want you during her absence to go with me to her room--"

The situation began to dawn on me.

"Yes!" I cried, breathlessly. "And search her trunks?"

"No, Bunny, no--the eaves," whispered Henriette. "I gave her that room
in the wing because it has so many odd cubby-holes where she could
conceal things. I am inclined to think--well, the moment she leaves the
city let me know. Follow her to the station, and don't return till you
know she is safely out of town and on her way to Providence. Then _our_
turn will come."

Oh, that woman! If I had not adored her before I--but enough. This is no
place for sentiment. The story is the thing, and I must tell it briefly.

I followed out Henriette's instructions to the letter, and an hour later
returned with the information that Fiametta was, indeed, safely on her
way.

"Good," said Mrs. Raffles. "And now, Bunny, for the Gaster jewels."

Mounting the stairs rapidly, taking care, of course, that there were
none of the other servants about to spy upon us, we came to the maid's
room. Everything in it betokened a high mind and a good character. There
were religious pictures upon the bureau, prayer-books, and some volumes
of essays of a spiritual nature were scattered about--nothing was there
to indicate that the occupant was anything but a simple, sweet child of
innocence except--

Well, Henriette was right--except the Gaster jewels. Even as my mistress
had suspected, they were cached under the eaves, snuggled close against
the huge dormer-window looking out upon the gardens; laid by for a
convenient moment to get them out of Newport, and then--back to England
for Fiametta. And what a gorgeous collection they were! Dog-collars of
dia