d of the woman before.
Now, what do you make of it?" he demanded, unconcernedly draining
his glass.

"Splendid," cried St. George in unfeigned interest. "I say,
splendid. Did you see the woman?" he asked Amory.

Amory nodded.

"Yes," he said, "Andy fixed that for me. But she never said a word.
I _parlez-voused_ her, and _verstehen-Sied_ her, and she sighed and
turned her head."

"Did you see the heiress?" St. George asked.

"Not I," mourned Amory, "not to talk with, that is. I happened to be
hanging up in the hall there the afternoon it occurred;" he modestly
explained.

"What luck," St. George commented with genuine envy. "It's a
stunning story. Who is Miss Holland?"

"She's lived there for a year or more with her aunt," said
Chillingworth. "She is a New Yorker and an heiress and a great
beauty--oh, all the properties are there, but they're all we've got.
What do you make of it?" he repeated.

St. George did not answer, and every one else did.

"Mistaken identity," said Little Cawthorne. "Do you remember
Provin's story of the woman whose maid shot a masseuse whom she took
to be her mistress; and the woman forgave the shooting and seemed to
have her arrested chiefly because she had mistaken her for a
masseuse?"

"Too easy, Cawthorne," said Chillingworth.

"The woman is probably an Italian," said the telegraph editor,
"doing one of her Mafia stunts. It's time they left the politicians
alone and threw bombs at the bonds that back them."

"Hey, Carbury. Stop writing heads," said Chillingworth.

"Has Miss Holland lived abroad?" asked Crass, the feature man.
"Maybe this woman was her nurse or ayah or something who got fond of
her charge, and when they took it away years ago, she devoted her
life to trying to find it in America. And when she got here she
wasn't able to make herself known to her, and rather than let any
one else--"

"No more space-grabbing, Crass," warned Chillingworth.

"Maybe," ventured Horace, "the young lady did settlement work and
read to the woman's kid, and the kid died, and the woman thought
she'd said a charm over it."

Chillingworth grinned affectionately.

"Hold up," he commanded, "or you'll recall the very words of the
charm."

Bennietod gasped and stared.

"Now, Bennietod?" Amory encouraged him.

"I t'ink," said the lad, "if she's a heiress, dis yere
dagger-plunger is her mudder dat's been shut up in a mad-house to a
fare-you-well."

Chillingworth nodded approvingly