rs were in an envelope inscribed "S. F. &
C. W." and there would be no difficulty in finding them.

So Eben Tollman opened the safe, and unlocked a certain strong box
filled to overflowing with papers of divers sorts.

As he stood holding the tin dispatch case with its cover raised he heard
Stuart's voice beyond the threshold and it was a voice couched in a tone
of annoying and unthinking levity.

"Don't forget! If I prove a case as strong as my heroine's you will act
as you say she should act."

"It's a bargain," came the quick and laughing response. "I'm ready to
prove my faith by my works." Then as the pair appeared framed in the
door, Conscience explained, "Eben, I want to show Stuart my opals."

To Tollman it seemed a most untimely interruption. Possibly that was why
the fingers that held the box trembled, as he came around to his chair
at the desk and said shortly, "They're in the larger drawer at the
left."

As Conscience came over to the safe Stuart followed her until he stood
across the width of the desk from his host whom he regarded absently.
Then something quite unaccountable occurred. Mrs. Tollman, in putting
down the somewhat heavy metal tray containing her trinkets, let it slip,
so that it spilled its rings, and pins and necklaces on the desk
top--and as if responsive to her clumsiness in handling her treasures,
though really because of nervous tension, Eben started violently, and
the box which he held fell from his quaking hands, scattering papers in
a confused litter about the floor.

Instantly Tollman was on all fours retrieving, and the undignified
posture had the advantage of serving to conceal the wild terror of his
face; a terror such as may stamp itself upon the features of a man who
cannot swim and who has twice gone down.

As he searched in a feverish panic, pretending an impartial interest in
the generality of scattered documents, Eben was tortured by the
knowledge that Stuart and Conscience were searching, too, and a
conviction that if either of them found that envelope first, the legend
"S. F. & C. W." would prove sufficiently illuminating to require an
accounting.

Finally the elder man straightened up, and stood panting. The vital
package was still unfound. Stuart Farquaharson tossed a sheaf of ancient
bill receipts across the desk with the casual comment, "Well, that seems
to be the crop."

Over the harrowed visage of the host swept an almost felicitous wave of
relief and then