"But oh, ma'am, I wish I knew how this thing was
ever going to turn out!"

Five minutes later the two twin figures of somberness, their veils
down, stole stealthily down the stairs and out into the night.

CHAPTER XII

HOME AGAIN

The two dark figures, giving a glance through the rain in either
direction, stole down beneath the stately marble steps of No. 13
Washington Square, and Matilda unlocked the servants' door. They
slipped inside; the door was cautiously relocked. Breathless, they
stood listening. A vast, noble silence pervaded the great house. They
flung their arms about each other, and thus embraced tottered against
the wall; and Mrs. De Peyster relaxed in an unspeakable relief.

[Illustration: MATILDA UNLOCKED THE SERVANTS' DOOR]

Home again! Her own home! Odorless of pot-roasts and frying
batter-cakes. The phrase was rather common and sentimental--but, in
truth, this was "home, sweet home."

And free of that unthinkable Mr. Pyecroft!

While Mrs. De Peyster leaned there in the blackness, gathering
strength, her mind mounted in sweet expectancy to her suite. Only a
few minutes of soft treading of stairways--certainly they could avoid
arousing Jack--and she would be locked in her comfortable rooms. A
cautious bath! Clean clothes! Her own bed! All of the luxuries she had
been so long denied!

Cautiously they crept through the basement hallway; cautiously crept
up the butler's stairs and turned off through the door into the great
hall of the first floor; cautiously they crept up to the drawing-room
floor and trod ever so softly over woven treasures of the Orient,
through the spacious ducal gloom. One more flight, then peace,
security. With unbreathing care, Mrs. De Peyster set foot upon the
first step of her journey's end.

And then, suddenly, the servants' bell burst into ringing. And there
was a terrific hammering against the servants' door and also against
the door in the boarding.

"Matilda--what's that?" breathed Mrs. De Peyster.

"M--maybe the police saw us come in," breathed Matilda.

They did not pause for discussion. Discarding caution, they plunged
frantically and noisily up the stairs; until from out of the overhead
blackness descended a voice:--

"Stop! Or I'll shoot!"

It was Jack's voice.

They stopped.

"Who are you?" the voice demanded.

They clung to each other, wordless.

"Who are you?" repeated Jack.

Their voices were still palsied. They heard his feet begin