Some four or five seconds they stood, breathing hard, both of them, and listening for the sounds of disaster which might echo any minute from the corridor. They had not echoed when Wilkins appeared. "You! Wilkins is your name?" Mary said. "Wilkins, I'm going to get into the trunk! Have you grasped that?" "Why--yes, Miss!" "And you, instantly, are going to take the trunk, with me in it, to my home--you know where that is? You don't, of course. Well, load the trunk into a taxi and tell the man to go across to West End Ave!" "And the corner of Eighty--th Street!" Anthony supplied. "Exactly!" said the girl. "Go to the side door and take in the trunk, through the yard, of course, and say it is for Felice--Felice Moreau, my maid? Have you the name, Wilkins?" "Felice Moreau, miss. Yes, miss," said the blunderer. "And then take it to her room and get out!" Mary concluded. "Don't lock the thing. Load it into the back of the cab with yourself and try to get it open a little so that I'll have air, when we've started!" Saying which, Mary Dalton, who knew a really desperate situation when she saw one, and who also inherited much of her father's superb executive ability in a genuine emergency--Mary gathered her skirts and stepped into the trunk, huddling down as prettily and gracefully as if it had been rehearsed for weeks! She looked at Wilkins, and Wilkins, with a sweep, had closed the lid; and with a great emotional gulp Wilkins looked at his master and said: "_My eye_, sir! A bit of all right, that, Mr. Fry!" Anthony Fry nodded quickly and thrust several bills into his hand. "Don't stand there talking about it!" he said. "Get your hat and hustle, Wilkins! Take the first taxi you see and--and handle her gently! Felice Moreau, Wilkins--remember that." "I shall, indeed, sir!" said the faithful one; and, delicate consideration in every finger, he lifted the trunk and walked into the living-room, while Anthony Fry held his breath and followed every move with fascinated eyes. Through the room, then, went Wilkins and trunk together and to the door. The sober black felt affair he had used these three years was on Wilkins's head now, and he lugged the trunk onward--turned in the outer hall and lugged it to the freight elevator--and now, as Anthony watched from the doorway of his lately peaceful home, onto the freight elevator. The door closed on the little car. The door closed on Anthony's apartment, with Anthony inside--and again he was that stately, dignified, reticent and austere being; the Anthony Fry of yesterday! A trifle stiffly, perhaps, he moved to his pet armchair, and into it he sank with an undeniable thud, grasping the arms fondly as one might grasp a friend returned from a long and perilous journey, and staring straight ahead. Amazing! More than that, dumfounding! Five minutes back he had been seriously resigned to ruin and death. Now he was quite utterly all right once more!