ching its collar--or purring--or--or--something. At any
rate, things appear to be all right, my dear, so let's go to sleep."

Thaddeus's assumed confidence in the rightness of everything, rather
than his explanations, was convincing to Mrs. Perkins, and in a very
short while she was sleeping the sleep of the just and serene; but
to Thaddeus's eye there came no more sleep that night, and when
morning came he rose unrefreshed. There were two problems
confronting him. The first was to solve the mystery of the swept
library floor; the second was to do this without arousing his wife's
suspicions that anything was wrong. To do the first he deemed it
necessary to remain at home that day, which was easy, for Thaddeus
was more or less independent of office-work.

"I'm glad you're not going down," said Mrs. Perkins, when he
announced his intention of remaining at home. "You will be able to
make up for your loss of sleep last night."

"Yes," said Thaddeus. "It's the only thing I can do, I'm so played
out."

Breakfast passed off pleasantly in spite of a great drawback--the
steak was burned almost to a crisp, and the fried potatoes were like
chips of wood.

"Margaret seems to be unfamiliar with the art of cooking this
morning," said Thaddeus.

"So it would seem," said Bessie. "This steak is horrible."

"The worst part of it is," said Thaddeus, "she has erred on the
wrong side. If the steak were underdone it wouldn't be so bad.
Isn't it a pity Edison can't invent a machine to rarefy an overdone
steak?"

"That would be a fine idea," smiled Bessie. "And to take a Saratoga
chip and make it less like a chip off a granite block."

"I don't mind the potatoes so much," said Thaddeus. "I can break
them up in a bowl of milk and secure a gastronomic novelty that,
suitably seasoned, isn't at all bad, but the steak is hopeless."

"Maybe she heard that cat last night, and thought it was a burglar,
just as we did," Bessie suggested. "I can't account for a breakfast
like this in any other way, can you?"

"No," said Thaddeus, shortly, and then he had an idea; and when
Thaddeus had an idea he was apt to become extremely reticent.

"Poor Thad!" thought Bessie, as she noted his sudden change of
demeanor. "He can't stand loss of sleep."

The morning was spent by Thaddeus in the "noble pastime of
snooping," as he called it. The house was searched by him in a
casual sort of way from top to bottom for a clew to the mystery, bu