ve the driver a few instructions and walked on with a firm step,
turning abruptly and mounting the steps of Number 173. Very quickly she
inserted her key in the lock, pushed the door open and closed it behind
her. She switched on the hall light. The house sounded hollow and
deserted, a fact which afforded her considerable satisfaction. She
turned the light out and found her way up the broad stairs to the first
floor, paused for a moment to switch on another light which she knew
would not be observable from the street outside and mounted the second
flight.

Miss Belinda Mary Bartholomew congratulated herself upon the success of
her scheme, and the only doubt that was in her mind now was whether
the boudoir had been locked, but her father was rather careless in such
matters and Jacks the butler was one of those dear, silly, old men who
never locked anything, and, in consequence, faced every audit with a
long face and a longer tale of the peculations of occasional servants.

To her immense relief the handle turned and the door opened to her
touch. Somebody had had the sense to pull down the blinds and the
curtains were drawn. She switched on the light with a sigh of relief.
Her mother's writing table was covered with unopened letters, but she
brushed these aside in her search for the little parcel. It was not
there and her heart sank. Perhaps she had put it in one of the drawers.
She tried them all without result.

She stood by the desk a picture of perplexity, biting a finger
thoughtfully.

"Thank goodness!" she said with a jump, for she saw the parcel on the
mantel shelf, crossed the room and took it down.

With eager hands she tore off the covering and came to the familiar
leather case. Not until she had opened the padded lid and had seen the
snuffbox reposing in a bed of cotton wool did she relapse into a long
sigh of relief.

"Thank heaven for that," she said aloud.

"And me," said a voice.

She sprang up and turned round with a look of terror.

"Mr.--Mr. Meredith," she stammered.

T. X. stood by the window curtains from whence he had made his dramatic
entry upon the scene.

"I say you have to thank me also, Miss Bartholomew," he said presently.

"How do you know my name?" she asked with some curiosity.

"I know everything in the world," he answered, and she smiled. Suddenly
her face went serious and she demanded sharply,

"Who sent you after me--Mr. Kara?"

"Mr. Kara?" he repeated, in wonder.

"H