in your lap wouldn't come back and lick your hand if you kicked
him. If--if you have to tell her the truth, be as gentle as you can,
sir. She has been good to me--that's why I have played the spy here all
summer. It's a thankless thing, spying on people."

"It is that," I agreed soberly.

Hotchkiss and I arrived in Washington late that evening, and, rather
than arouse the household, I went to the club. I was at the office early
the next morning and admitted myself. McKnight rarely appeared before
half after ten, and our modest office force some time after nine. I
looked over my previous day's mail and waited, with such patience as I
possessed, for McKnight. In the interval I called up Mrs. Klopton
and announced that I would dine at home that night. What my household
subsists on during my numerous absences I have never discovered. Tea,
probably, and crackers. Diligent search when I have made a midnight
arrival, never reveals anything more substantial. Possibly I imagine it,
but the announcement that I am about to make a journey always seems
to create a general atmosphere of depression throughout the house,
as though Euphemia and Eliza, and Thomas, the stableman, were already
subsisting, in imagination, on Mrs. Klopton's meager fare.

So I called her up and announced my arrival. There was something unusual
in her tone, as though her throat was tense with indignation. Always
shrill, her elderly voice rasped my ear painfully through the receiver.

"I have changed the butcher, Mr. Lawrence," she announced portentously.
"The last roast was a pound short, and his mutton-chops--any
self-respecting sheep would refuse to acknowledge them."

As I said before, I can always tell from the voice in which Mrs. Klopton
conveys the most indifferent matters, if something of real significance
has occurred. Also, through long habit, I have learned how quickest to
bring her to the point.

"You are pessimistic this morning," I returned. "What's the matter, Mrs.
Klopton? You haven't used that tone since Euphemia baked a pie for the
iceman. What is it now? Somebody poison the dog?"

She cleared her throat.

"The house has been broken into, Mr. Lawrence," she said. "I have lived
in the best families, and never have I stood by and seen what I
saw yesterday--every bureau drawer opened, and my--my most sacred
belongings--" she choked.

"Did you notify the police?" I asked sharply.

"Police!" she sniffed. "Police! It was the police that d