he combination before leaving. As
for the dining-room, he didn't once set foot in it."

"Then--that burglar must have come back."

"That's our theory, naturally. Walter was so sure he'd scared the man
off, he simply left the scuttle closed--"

"But he told me he found hammer and nails and fastened it up
securely!"

"That was just his blague; he was having a good time, pretending to be
what you took him for--an amateur cracksman; he made up that
story to fool you. The truth is, he made an uncommonly asinine
exhibition, even for Walter--so excited and upset by that fight with
the real burglar, to say nothing of the mystery of your interference,
that he didn't stop to make sure he had got hold of the right
jewel-case. As a matter of fact, he hadn't; everything I own of any
real value was left behind; what Walter brought me was an old case
containing a lot of trinkets worth little or nothing aside from
sentimental associations."

"Oh, I am so sorry!"

"I'm sure you are, but that doesn't mend matters. The only thing that
will is for you to make good here and keep away from New York until
the whole affair has blown over and, above all, never, under any
consideration, breathe a word of the truth to a living soul."

"I'm hardly likely to do that, Mrs. Standish; it wouldn't--"

"But you might. I've got to warn you. Everything depends on secrecy.
Suppose some one were to question you, and you thought you had to tell
the truth--a detective, for instance. It's not unlikely that one may
come down here to interview me. Walter is leaving for New York by the
first boat--in hopes of preventing anything of the sort--but still it
isn't impossible. And if it ever comes out that Walter was in
the house last night after dark--well, you can see for yourself what
chance we'll have of making the burglar-insurance people pay us for
what we've lost!"

CHAPTER VII

FRAUD

At Gosnold House that day, in an airy dining-room from which sunlight
was jealously excluded by Venetian blinds at every long, wide window,
creating an oasis of cool twilight in the arid heart of day, ten
persons sat at luncheon--a meal of few and simple courses, but
admirably ordered and served upon a clothless expanse of dark
mahogany, relieved at each place by little squares of lace and fine
linen, and in the center by a great, brazen bowl of vivid roses.

In this strange atmosphere the outsider maintained a covertly watchful
silence (which, if rarely inte