what a really great pleasure it was to have Mrs.
Witherspoon staying with him over the week-end. He was having a dinner
party for her that evening--of forty-eight. All that it had been
necessary for him to do to have the party was to tell Mr. Sadducee, his
secretary, that he wished to have it and direct him to send the
invitations from List Number One and then to tell Bibby the same thing
and to order the chef to serve Dinner Number Four--only to have
Johannisberger Cabinet instead of Niersteiner.

All these things were highly important to Mr. Hepplewhite, for upon the
absolute smoothness with which tea and dinner were served and the
accuracy with which his valet selected socks to match his tie his entire
happiness, to say nothing of his peace of mind, depended. His daily life
consisted of a series of subdued and nicely adjusted social events. They
were forecast for months ahead. Nothing was ever done on the spur of the
moment at Mr. Hepplewhite's. He could tell to within a couple of seconds
just exactly what was going to occur during the balance of the day, the
remainder of Mrs. Witherspoon's stay and the rest of the month. It would
have upset him very much not to know exactly what was going to happen,
for he was a meticulously careful host and being a creature of habit the
unexpected was apt to agitate him extremely.

So now as he stood rubbing his hands it was in the absolute certainty
that in just a few more seconds one of the footmen would appear between
the tapestry portieres bearing aloft a silver tray with the tea things,
and then Bibby would come in with the paper, and presently Mrs.
Witherspoon would come down and she would make tea for him and they
would talk about tea, and Aiken, and whether the Abner Fullertons were
going to get a domestic or foreign divorce, and how his bridge was these
days. It would be very nice, and he rubbed his hands very gently and
waited for the Dresden clock to strike five in the subdued and decorous
way that it had. But he did not hear it strike.

Instead a shriek rang out from the hall above, followed by yells and
feet pounding down the stairs. Mr. Hepplewhite turned cold and something
hard rose up in his throat. His sight dimmed. And then Bibby burst in,
pale and with protruding eyes.

"There was a man in the guest room!" he gasped. "Stockin's got him. What
shall we do?"

At that moment Mrs. Witherspoon followed.

"Oh, Mr. Hepplewhite! Oh, Mr. Hepplewhite!" she gasped, sta