teen years, sir."

"You knew Miss Natalie's father then, and must enjoy the place to
remain so long?"

"It has been very pleasant, sir, until the last month or so,"
regretfully, yet evidently glad of the opportunity to talk, lingering
with one hand on the knob of the door. "Since then things haven't been
just the same."

"In what way?"

"Well, I don't exactly know, sir. Miss Natalie seems to change her mind,
an' we never can please her. That's the trouble mostly. Last night I
waited up until you all went to bed, an' then locked the house, the way
she told me to. But that didn't suit her at all, for she stopped me on
the stairs, an' made me go back an' leave the side door unlocked--just
said she'd attend to that herself."

"Miss Natalie told you? You are sure, Sexton?"

"Oh, it was her, sir; there was a light burning in the hall, an' she was
all dressed up as though she was goin' out. 'Taint the first time,
either. I ain't got no right to say anything, but it puzzles me what she
wants to go out for at that time o' night. And I thought maybe I ought to
speak to Mr. Percival Coolidge about it."

"No. I wouldn't, Sexton," said West quietly. "It would likely enough only
get you into trouble. Probably she cannot sleep well, and so walks in the
garden. Anyway this is none of our business, my man. Where are Miss
Natalie's apartments?"

"In the other wing, sir; the first door beyond the head of the stairs."

"And the door you were asked to leave open?"

"At the farther end of the hall."

As West made no further effort to continue the conversation, but began to
carelessly roll a cigarette, Sexton slipped silently through the opening,
the valise in his hand, and closed the door behind him. West touched a
match to the cigarette, scarcely aware of the action.

This attempt to dig information out of a servant was not a pleasant
experience, yet he felt that in this case it was fully justified. To be
sure he had gained little, yet that little helped to clear away the fog,
and sustain the girl's theory that she was being impersonated by another
even to her own servants. If West had retained any lingering doubt as to
what had occurred the previous night, this doubt had entirely vanished in
the face of Sexton's testimony. His visitor, and the one who had ordered
the servant to leave the side door unlocked, had been the same--not
Natalie Coolidge, but strangely resembling her. Whoever she was, she knew
the house well, and po