“Don’t you owe it to yourself to explain, Mr. Cabot?” asked Morrison. “I’ve worked in this family all my life and am considered a proper woman. The young lady you ask about is seriously ill. Mr. Cabot is here because my father, the butler, telephoned for him.” “Ill, is she?”--the first strange voice. “Well, we’re specialists sent to investigate her symptoms. Here, matey, help me ease this gent away from the door. No need for strenuous argument when we’re two to his one.” “Look out--a gun!”--the second. “And a gun,” John added quietly, “trained to put burglars out of my house.” “We’re not burglars, Cabot. We’re authorized to enter by the lady of your house.” “By Mrs. Cabot? Her authorization can’t help you--from the distance of Palm Beach.” Together the two laughed. One explained their amusement. “Wifie isn’t in Palm Beach, old chap. She’s waiting down at the Plaza to give us any further authority we need over the telephone.” “She--didn’t--go?” A moment of silence followed John’s slow question; then, in staccato---- “Well, get your further authority over an outside ’phone. Mine are busy. Quick, now--my fingers are nervous. I’d be well within my rights if I----” A grumbled sentence which Dolores could not hear ended in steps descending the stairs. The colloquy seemed to be ended. She felt relieved; dozed off. * * * * * The morning was half over before John enquired about her condition over Jack’s telephone. He felt that he must tell her certain facts, not so much to worry her as to spare her worry over matters which undoubtedly soon would be forced upon her attention. He hoped that listening would not tax her, since the physician’s morning report had been most encouraging. A little patience, a few days within doors, and she would be herself again. His relief she could better imagine than he describe. If his friend Rufus Holt called to see her, she was to talk to him as she felt inclined and might trust his advices. Toward any other inquiries regarding her personal affairs she should not commit herself. For some time he would not be able to see her and considered it best that he should get his news of her through Morrison. She must take all possible care of herself and believe that nothing--_nothing_ had been wasted. Scarcely had Dolores hung up the receiver, scarcely had given her mind to the realization that John Cabot was trying to protect her from whatever it was that threatened, when the gallery door opened and Clarke Shayle strode into the room. He looked flushed, hurried, perturbed. He stopped before Jack’s reading chair, in which she sat, and fixed his odd-flecked gaze upon her, his lips twitching. Sinking on the hassock, he laid his face in the robe that wrapped her knees and drew a rasping, relieved sigh.