nk at first; but on turning it over I saw some writing,
faint and faded but legible, which had been penned by a feminine hand:

"I pray that you be showered with all the blessings of the season.
With love from

"CLARA."

And in the lower left-hand corner, a date was written--an old, old
date: "Xmas, 1857."

Next I satisfied myself that the doors had not been forced, and that
every compartment was indeed empty. Then I looked back over my
shoulder, to be puzzled by the baffling, indecipherable stare of
Burke's tawny eyes. Was he looking at me, at the reaved safe, or at
the pathetic little reminder, which I was holding in my hand, of that
long-ago Christmas present? Though I could not be certain, I somehow
felt that his interest was, at the moment, intense, and that I had been
mistaken in thinking him a young man.

As I slipped the time-worn card into a pocket, Maillot's voice broke in
harshly upon my meditations.

"So--we have a thief to deal with, as well as an assassin," he
observed, his glance roving casually over the secretary. "Burke, how
would you, now, account for the safe being open?"

And for the first time I detected a sign of emotion in the yellow eyes:
they darted a look toward Maillot, and away again; but it flickered
with a spark of malice--gleamed for an instant with a light of
malevolent contempt--which made me feel that the fellow had all along
been keeping something in reserve, something which must inevitably come
to light presently, to Maillot's utter discomfiture and undoing. It
suggested that Burke was patiently biding his time until some sudden
turn of events should permit him to triumph over the other. Clearly,
there was no goodwill lost between these two men.

At once the eyes were again the same blank windows whose scrutiny was
so indeterminate. Burke let down the trap-door in the closet floor,
and I paused a while to admire how cunningly it had been designed.
Although knowing it to be there, I could discern no trace of the
aperture. We then reentered the bedroom.

I observed a door in the wall nearest the front of the house, and,
seized with a sudden fancy to ascertain upon what it opened, went and
laid my hand upon the handle. Burke's steady progress toward the hall
door seemed to be aimed at diverting my purpose; realizing that he had
failed, he turned and called aloud, staying my hand while it was in the
very act of turning the knob.

"That's only the conservatory," h