Dempsi had wandered out of the room when she came in, and she went swiftly to the safe. It was one of those old-fashioned receptables that had, in addition to the combination, a further lock operated by a key. Gordon had once told her that the key was never used; he had once mislaid it and had to summon experts to open the door. She searched his writing-table, pulling out drawers (she opened them all without difficulty) and at last, in a small envelope inscribed gratuitously “Key,” she found what she sought. “Thank goodness!” said Diana. A turn of her wrist and the safe was secure even against those who by cunning or violence had obtained the code word. Mr. Julius Superbus came importantly, descending from a taxicab and drawing out after him a large tin box, mottled red and black. He produced, also from the interior of the cab, a large scrap-book fastened about with a broad green canvas strap. He also delivered from the cab a daring golf cap. These he deposited on the sidewalk, paid the taximan his fare, climbing inside to verify what had seemed to be a preposterous statement of claim, and donated the driver sixpence. Diana in the note she had scrawled had added a P.S. “Spare no expense.” Gathering his belongings under both arms, he went up the steps, stooped and pressed the bell with his nose, a clever little device that had once come to him as an inspiration and which in itself advertised his originality. Diana answered the door. “You sent for me,” said Julius simply. “I have come.” She was obviously relieved to see him, and piloted him into the dining-room. “Mr. Superbus, I am going to make great demands upon you, and I’m sure I shall not ask in vain. I am in the greatest trouble.” He inclined his head. “Have you searched all your clothes?” he asked quickly. “You’ve lost something--I know this by, so to speak, a method of my own. It’s natural to suspect servants--but do they do it, ma’am? Not once in fifty times----” “I’ve lost nothing. Mr. Superbus, my uncle is here----” She was doubtful as to how she should go on. Should she take him entirely into her confidence? A wild idea, but not without its advantage. “Relations,” the Roman pronounced, “are best apart. They come, they borrow money, they eat you out of house and home, and when they go, they haven’t a good word for you. Uncles especially. Leave him to me, ma’am; I’ll put the case to him man to man. He’ll be out of this house ...” he looked at his watch--“in five minutes.” She enlightened him briefly: her uncle was a welcome visitor; a nice man, very much like Mr. Selsbury in appearance and as young. Only ... she tapped her forehead. Mr. Superbus understood.