the edge of the table as if it were the one stable fact in
her whirling world; all her bravado dissipating as her daze of
wonder yielded successively to doubt, suspicion, consternation.

"I said there was plenty of time, and so there was, barring accidents.
But the same wouldn't be barred. I manufactured the first delay for
myself, forgetting to ask Adele for the combination. I knew where to
find it, in a little book locked up in the desk; but I hadn't a key to
the desk, so felt obliged to break it open, and managed that so
famously I was beginning to fancy myself a bit as a Raffles when, all
of a sudden--_Pow!_" he laughed--"that fat devil landed on my devoted
neck with all the force and fury of two hundredweight of professional
jealousy!

"And then," he added, "in you walked from God knows where--"

His eyes affixed a point of interrogation to the simple declarative.

She started nervously in response, divided between impulses which she
had no longer sufficient wit to weigh. Should she confess, or try to
lie out of it?

Must she believe this glibly simple and adequate account or reject it
on grounds of pardonable skepticism?

If this man were what he professed to be, surely he must recognise her
borrowed plumage as his sister's property. True, that did not of
necessity follow; men have so little understanding of women's
clothing; it pleases them or it displeases, if thrust upon their
attention, but once withdrawn it is forgotten utterly. Such might well
be the case in this present instance; the man gave Sally, indeed,
every reason to believe him as much bewildered and mystified by her as
she was by him.

On the other hand, and even so . . .

The infatuate impulse prevailed, to confess and take the consequences.

"I'm afraid--" she began in a quaver.

"No need to be--none I know of, at least," he volunteered promptly, if
without moderating his exacting stare.

"You don't understand--"

She hesitated, sighed, plunged in desperation. "It's no use; there's
nothing for me to do but own up. What you were not to-night, Mr.
Savage, I was."

"Sounds like a riddle to me. What is the answer?"

"You were just make-believe. I was the real thing--a real thief. No,
let me go on; it's easier if you don't interrupt. Yes, I'll tell you
my name, but it won't mean anything. I'm nobody. I'm Sarah Manvers.
I'm a shop-girl out of work."

"Still I don't see . . ."

"I'm coming to that. I live on your block--the Lexington