indeed!" she urged. "Never mind
what the other servants say or where they want you to leave the trunk.
You insist that it is for Felice, and has to be delivered to her
personally; and if you have a chance to give her some sort of sign to
accompany you to the room, do it. I think she'll understand."

"Yes, miss," Wilkins agreed.

"And above and beyond all things, keep your face perfectly
expressionless when you meet Bates, Wilkins. Bates is our butler, you
know, and he's the most inquisitive creature in the world. Is this trunk
marked?"

"Only with Mr. Fry's initials, miss--'A. F.'"

Mary frowned up at him through the crack.

"That'll have to be explained too," she sighed. "Well--let's see. Do you
think of anything plausible, Wilkins?"

The perfect treasure glanced at the driver, who was quite intent on his
own affairs and apparently not listening--and Wilkins smiled quite
complacently.

"If I might make so bold as to suggest it, miss," he said, "why not say
that the trunk comes from--well, the cousin of this Felice, perhaps? Has
she a female cousin?"

"Nobody knows it if she hasn't."

"Then it might be said that this comes from her cousin--er--Aimee
Fourier. That sounds rather well for a name?"

"Great, Wilkins!" said Mary.

"And it might further be said that this cousin, a person perhaps in the
trade of making gowns and the like, since I believe that such use these
trunks quite a bit--it might be said that the cousin, having no further
use for this trunk, is sending it to your maid, miss."

Sheer admiration shone in Mary's visible eye.

"Wilkins, you're a jewel!" said its owner. "Where are we now?"

"On West End Avenue, miss, within a block or two of your home."

Mary disappeared.

"Shut the trunk, Wilkins," her voice said softly, "We're safe!"

She, who had suffered so many shocks since last night, seemed assured
that at last all was well; and as a matter of fact Wilkins felt much the
same about the whole affair. He gazed placidly at the sign on the corner
and, closing the trunk, leaned forward to the driver.

"The big limestone place over there, I think it is," said he. "Go to the
side gate, old chap."

Seconds only, and they rolled to a standstill at the curb. Anthony's
priceless personal servant lifted out his burden and set it on the
sidewalk with no effort at all.

"Wait a bit and take me back," he smiled at the driver, as he started
for the handsome black iron gate in the cream-colored