w--'fess up. Don't
you?"

"Sometimes," granted her husband, with a smile. "You know I loved my
work. It always seemed to take me out of the dull routine of existence,
and give me a new feeling of interest. I shouldn't mind if I had a novel
and interesting case to work on right now."

"Would you take one, if it were offered to you?" asked Grace quickly.

"No--I guess not. I haven't forgotten my promise."

"Well--I've decided to release you from that, Richard. I really think
you need a little mental exercise and diversion. All play and no work,
you know----" She began to arrange the dogwood blossoms she had gathered
before breakfast, in a big vase on the table.

Duvall laughed.

"I'm getting along very well," he said. "Don't forget I'm expecting to
have that corner lot planted in potatoes to-day." He rose, and coming
over to his wife, playfully pinched her cheek. "What's the matter,
dear?" he asked. "Are you pining for a little trip to New York yourself?
We don't need a murder mystery to make that possible, you know."

Grace shook her head. As she did so, the telephone bell in the hall
began to ring. "That may be your murder mystery now," she said, with a
laugh.

"More likely the Clarks asking us over to dinner this evening," he
returned, as he made his way into the hall.

Grace continued to arrange her flowers. Presently Duvall re-entered the
room. There was a curious smile upon his face. "Well," Grace remarked,
glancing up. "Which was it? The murder case, or the Clarks?"

"Neither. A mysterious woman, this time, saying that she must see me at
once. I told her to come on out."

"Ah! This _is_ serious," his wife laughed. "A mysterious woman! I
suppose I ought to be jealous. Didn't she say what she wanted with you?"

"No. But we'll know soon enough. She'll be here at half past nine.
Suppose we go and take a look at those Airedale pups." Together they
crossed the veranda and made their way toward the barn.

Richard Duvall had changed but little since the days when he had served
on the staff of Monsieur Lefevre, the Prefect of Police of Paris, and
had taken part in the stirring adventures of the Million Francs, the
Ivory Snuff Box and the Changing Lights. The same delightful spirit of
_camaraderie_ existed between his wife, Grace, and himself, a spirit
which had enabled them, together, to solve some of the most exciting
mysteries in the annals of the French detective service. It had been
nearly two years, now