"A NOM DE PLUME? Oh I see! What is it?" "Grosvenor," I said. "The same as yours." "There's another Grosvenor in the building, That's where the trouble came in, I suppose, Now let me get this straight. You wrote a letter, and somehow or other he got it, and now you want it back. Stripped of the things that baffle my intelligence, that's it, isn't it?" I rose in excitement. "Then, if he lives in the building, the letter is probably here. Why can't you go and get it for me?" "Very neat! And let you slip away while I am gone?" I saw that he was still uncertain that I was telling him the truth. It was maddening. And only the Letter itself could convince him. "Oh, please try to get it," I cried, almost weeping. "You can lock me in here, if you are afraid I will run away. And he is out. I know he is. He is at the club ball." "Naturally," he said "the fact that you are asking me to compound a felony, commit larceny, and be an accessory after the fact does not trouble you. As I told you before, all I have left is my good name, and now----!" "Please!" I said. He stared down at me. "Certainly," he said. "Asked in that tone, murder would be one of the easiest things I do. But I shall lock you in." "Very well," I said meekly. And after I had described it--the letter--to him he went out. I had won, but my triumph was but sackcloth and ashes in my mouth. I had won, but at what a cost! Ah, how I wished that I might live again the past few days! That I might never have started on my path of deception! Or that, since my intentions at the start had been so innocent, I had taken another photograph at the shop, which I had fancied considerably but had heartlessly rejected because of no mustache. He was gone for a long time, and I sat and palpitated. For what if H. had returned early and found him and called in the police? But the latter had not occurred, for at ten minutes after one he came back, entering by the window from a fire-escape, and much streaked with dirt. "Narrow escape, dear child!" he observed, locking the window and drawing the shade. "Just as I got it, your--er--gentleman friend returned and fitted his key in the lock. I am not at all sure," he said, wiping his hands with his handkerchief, "that he will not regard the open window as a suspicious circumstance. He may be of a low turn of mind. However, all's well that ends here in this room. Here it is." I took it, and my heart gave a great leap of joy. I was saved. "Now," he said, "we'll order a taxicab and get you home. And while it is coming suppose you tell me the thing over again. It's not as clear to me as it ought to be, even now." So then I told him--about not being out yet, and Sis having flowers sent her, and her room done over, and never getting to bed until dawn. And that they treated me like a mere child, which was the reason for everything, and about the poem, which he considered quite good. And then about the letter.