u can't understand," said the cook
darkly.

"What d'ye mean?" cried the kitchen in chorus.

"I believe I'm able to keep the secrets as are intrusted to me," said
the cook very haughtily, and with a finality which encouraged no further
interrogation. Safely concealed behind the day-old newspaper--useful
shield in time of distress--she concluded that her prestige had been
rather strengthened than otherwise by the incident. The chauffeur's
eldest boy chuckled furtively, to be sure, but then, he was an
impertinent brat, whose opinion was of no consequence whatever.

While the kitchen buzzed with suppressed speculation, Judith was
closeted with a placid little man whose business was the disclosure of
other peoples' secrets.

"I have a clue, I think," she cried breathlessly.

"Yes?" His tone was quite noncommittal. Years of disillusionment had
robbed him of all enthusiasm.

"I have a letter--this...." She drew Good's tattered scrawl from her
bag. The detective held out his hand--and drew it back empty. It was his
business to see things which were not intended for him to see, and her
sudden flush was not lost upon him. Nor did the involuntary movement of
her hand, with the letter, toward the bag, escape him. But by not so
much as the flutter of an eyelid did his countenance change.

"No address given, I suppose?"

"No."

"May I see ... the envelope?" He noticed that her blush was more
pronounced as she handed it to him. And as he held it up to the light
and seemed to be studying it intently, he was really considering the
different features of what was, even to him, a distinctly unusual case.
Why was this young woman so tremendously desirous of locating an obscure
journalist that she employed detectives for the purpose? And why did she
colour and hold so tenaciously to a note from him? On the face of it it
looked like a typical bit of soiled linen in high place--cases of which
sort he was familiar with to the point of ennui. But his professional
eminence had not been attained merely through industry: he was possessed
of considerably more than a normal share of intuition--and intuition
made the natural hypothesis untenable. He shrugged his shoulders. To
find Good--as he studied the postmark on the envelope, he dismissed that
problem as unworthy of his ability. But to explain why Miss Judith
Wynrod wanted to find him--that, he admitted quite frankly to himself,
was another matter.

Matters which he did not understand