arls herself," cried
Clo, darting across the room to put her lips to the keyhole. "And that's
not all she's afraid of."

"I'll kill you when I get my hands round your throat," Kit screamed her
down.

"I won't be the first you've killed. Take care!" Clo retorted, and was
then stung with regret for her boldness. There would be no mercy for her
now from Kit or Churn when the door gave way. They would know that she'd
been the woman at the telephone masquerading as Kit.

But, if only Miss Blackburne came first, before they broke in, she
didn't much care. With the pearls safe, she could fight for herself.

"Hurrah, by all that's good, here's my Boy!" crowed Kit outside the
door. "Churn! you've come! Mr. Isaacs, too! I was never so glad in my
life to see any one as you both! There's a thief in Mr. Cheffinsky's
room--the girl that's been living next door to us. She's stole my poor
little string o' beads."

Men's voices spoke. Churn and Isaacs were indeed there! The girl put her
ear to the keyhole once more, and listened.

"What did I tell you about dat key?" Churn caught her up. "You're ten
kinds of a fool, girl. But de tief's dere all right, you say?"

"Yes, she's there all right. She must have took Chuff's key off our
mantelpiece. You left it there! The little brute's been 'phonin' some
pal to come in a taxi so she can drop my pearls out the window."

"Let me go down and talk things over with the pal when he comes," said
another voice that was very smooth, and had a lisp. Clo deduced that it
was the voice of Isaacs.

"Yes, do go down!" The girl jeered him through the keyhole. "I'll call
from the window what you are, a fence; that's your nickname. You're a
receiver of stolen goods."

For a few breathless moments there was no sound. Clo wondered if Ellen
had started, and how soon the taxi might arrive. She went again to the
window and looked out. There was no taxi in sight, no vehicle of any
sort, but children playing, women chatting together. Clo wished that she
might shriek at the top of her voice "Help!" "Thieves!" "Murder!" A
policeman would surely come, and she and the pearls would be saved. But
Beverley would be lost. The story of the pearls would come out somehow.
As she gazed like Sister Anne from the tower, two things happened. In
the house, a blow from a hammer made the door quiver; in the street a
taxi came swinging into sight.

"They'll have the door down!" Clo gasped. "But if only that's Ellen
she'll