stature could reach, and when on her feet again, knelt to inspect the
ones below.

"No one has touched or drawn anything from these shelves in twenty-four
hours," she declared. "The small accumulation of dust along their edges
has not been disturbed at any point. It was very different with the
table-top. That shows very plainly where you had moved things and where
you had not."

"Was that what you were looking for? Well, I never!"

Violet paid no heed; she was thinking and thinking very deeply.

Hetty turned towards her mistress, then quickly back to Violet, whom she
seized by the arm.

"What's the matter with Mrs. Quintard?" she hurriedly asked. "If it were
night, I should think that she was in one of her spells."

Violet started and glanced where Hetty pointed. Mrs. Quintard was within
a few feet of them, but as oblivious of their presence as though she
stood alone in the room. Possibly, she thought she did. With fixed eyes
and mechanical step she began to move straight towards the table, her
whole appearance of a nature to make Hetty's blood run cold, but to
cause that of Violet's to bound through her veins with renewed hope.

"The one thing I could have wished!" she murmured under her breath. "She
has fallen into a trance. She is again under the dominion of her idea.
If we watch and do not disturb her she may repeat her action of last
night, and herself show where she has put this precious document."

Meanwhile Mrs. Quintard continued to advance. A moment more, and her
smooth white locks caught the ruddy glow centred upon the chair standing
in the hollow of the table. Words were leaving her lips, and her hand,
reaching out over the blotter, groped among the articles scattered there
till it settled on a large pair of shears.

"Listen," muttered Violet to the woman pressing close to her side. "You
are acquainted with her voice; catch what she says if you can."

Hetty could not; an undistinguishable murmur was all that came to her
ears.

Violet took a step nearer. Mrs. Quintard's hand had left the shears and
was hovering uncertainly in the air. Her distress was evident. Her head,
no longer steady on her shoulders, was turning this way and that, and
her tones becoming inarticulate.

"Paper! I want paper" burst from her lips in a shrill unnatural cry.

But when they listened for more and watched to see the uncertain hand
settle somewhere, she suddenly came to herself and turned upon them
a startled glanc