ng room and lounge, but when entertaining was done, cloaks
and wraps were left there. McIntyre looked over the prettily upholstered
furniture, then strolled to the window and carefully inspected the lock;
it appeared in perfect order as he tested it. Pushing the catch back as
far as it would go, he raised the window--the sash moved upward without
a sound, and he leaned out and looked up and down the path which ran the
depth of the house to the kitchen door and servants' entrance. There was
an iron gate separating the path from the sidewalk, always kept locked
at night, and McIntyre had thought that sufficient protection and had
not put an iron grille in the window.

McIntyre closed and locked the window, then pulling out the gilt chair
which stood in front of the desk, he sat down, selected some monogrammed
paper and penned a few lines in his characteristic though legible
writing. Picking up some red sealing wax, he lighted the small candle
in its brass holder which matched the rest of the desk ornaments, but
before heating the wax he looked for his signet ring, and frowned when
he recalled leaving it on his dresser. He hesitated a moment, then
catching sight of a silver seal lying at the back of the desk he picked
it up and moistened the initial. A few minutes later he blew out the
candle, returned the wax and seal to a pigeon hole, and carefully placed
the envelope with its well stamped letter "B" in his coat pocket, and
tramped upstairs.

Helen heard his heavy tread coming down the hall toward her room, and
scrambled back to bed. She had but time to arrange her dressing sacque
when her father walked in.

"Good morning, my dear," he said and, stooping over, kissed her. As he
straightened up, the side of his single-breasted coat turned back and
exposed to Helen's bright eyes the end of a white envelope. "Barbara
told me you are not well," he wheeled forward a chair and sat down by
the bed. "Hadn't I better send for Dr. Stone?" "Oh, no," her reply,
though somewhat faint, was emphatic, and he frowned.

"Why not?" aggressively. "I trust you do not share Barbara's suddenly
developed prejudice against the good doctor."

"I do not require a physician," she said evasively. "I am well."

McIntyre regarded her vexedly. He could not decide whether her flushed
cheeks were from fever or the result of exertion or excitement.
Excitement over what? He looked about the room; it reflected the taste
of its dainty owner in its furn