n opens. It may be that I will run across you
somewhere. By the way--you haven't met your musical neighbor yet, have
you?"

The novelist gave particular attention to his pipe which did not seem to
be behaving properly.

The artist answered shortly, "No."

"I'd certainly make her acquaintance, if I were you," said Rutlidge, with
his suggestive smile. "She is a dream. A delightful little retreat--that
studio of yours."

The painter, puzzled by the man's words and by his insinuating air,
returned coldly, "It does very well for a work-shop."

The other laughed meaningly; "Yes, oh yes--a great little work-shop. I
suppose you--ah--do not fear to trust your _art treasures_ to the
Chinaman, during your absence?"

Conrad Lagrange--certain, now, that the man had seen Sibyl Andres either
entering or leaving the studio--said abruptly, "You need give yourself no
concern for Mr. King's studio, Rutlidge. I can assure you that the
treasures there will be well protected."

James Rutlidge understood the warning conveyed in the novelist's words
that, to Aaron King, revealed nothing.

"Really," said the painter to their caller, "you are not uneasy for the
safety of Mrs. Taine's portrait, are you, old man? If you are, of
course--"

"Damn Mrs. Taine's portrait!" ejaculated the man, rising hurriedly. "You
know what I mean. It's all right, of course. I must be going. Hope you
have a good outing and come back to find all your art treasures safe." He
laughed coarsely, as he went down the walk.

When the automobile was gone, the artist turned to his friend. "Now what
in thunder did he mean by that? What's the matter with him? Do you suppose
they imagine that there is anything wrong because I wouldn't turn over the
picture?"

"He is an unclean beast, Aaron," the novelist answered shortly. "His
father was the worst I ever knew, and he's like him. Forget him. Here
comes the delivery boy with our stuff. Let's overhaul the outfit. I hope
they'll get here with that burro, before dark. Where'll we put him, in the
studio, heh?"

"Look here,"--said the artist a few minutes later, returning from a visit
to the studio for something,--"this is what was the matter with Rutlidge.
And you did it, old man. This is your key."

"What do you mean?" asked the other in confusion taking the key.

"Why, I found the studio door wide open, with your key in the lock. You
must have been out there, just before we left this morning, and forgot to
shut the