r how it would do," she said, "for you to telephone that we are
both out of town for the night, spending the week-end in the country?"

"I guess one lie is as good as another," said Quin ruefully. He was
getting involved deeper than he liked, but there seemed no other way out.
"I'll telephone from the drug-store. Anything else I can do for you?"

"You have been so kind, I hate to ask another favor."

"Let's have it," said Quin.

"Would you by any chance have time to leave a package of papers at
Bartlett & Bangs' for me the first thing in the morning? Mr. Bangs has
been telephoning me about them all day, and I've been nearly distracted,
because my husband had them in his pocket and I did not know where he
was."

"Wait a minute," said Quin, going back into the bedroom. "Are these the
ones?"

"Yes. They must be very important; that's why I am afraid to intrust them
to my maid. Be sure to take them to Mr. Bangs himself, and if he asks any
questions----" She caught her trembling lip between her teeth and tried
to force back the tears.

"Don't you worry!" cried Quin. "I'll make it all right with him. You
drink a glass of hot milk or something, and go to bed."

She looked up at him gratefully. "I don't know your name," she said, "but
I certainly appreciate your kindness to me to-night. I wish you would
come back some time and let us thank you----"

"Oh, that's all o.k.," said Quin, turning to the door in sudden
embarrassment. Then he discovered that he was trying to shake hands and
hold his cap with the same hand, and in his confusion he slipped on the
hard-wood floor, and achieved an exit that was scarcely more dignified
than his entrance a half-hour before.

CHAPTER 9

The news that Quin had broken through the Bartlett barrage afforded great
amusement to the Martels at breakfast next morning. Of course they were
sympathetic over Madam Bartlett's accident--the Martels' sympathy was
always on tap for friend or foe,--but that did not interfere with a frank
enjoyment of Quin's spirited account of her high-handed treatment of the
family, especially the incident of the smelling salts.

"She ought to belong to the Tank Brigade," said Rose. "'Treat 'em rough'
is her motto."

"I like the old girl, though," said Quin disrespectfully, "she's got so
much pep. And talk about your nerve! You should have seen her set her jaw
when I put the splint on!"

"Is the house very grand?" asked