Now I should have explained that Warriner and I had been sitting close to one of the side walls of the library; indeed our heads were almost in actual contact with the plaster. Thaneford and his companion were undoubtedly in the great hall whose circular walls probably formed a natural whispering gallery. How the sounds could be transmitted through the straight connecting passage under the stairs, and then shunted upon the rectangular walls of the library, was a problem in applied acoustics that I did not attempt to solve. The conversation was being conducted under the breath, as we say, but every word fell with perfect distinctness upon my ears. Of course it was a private conversation, one to which I had no right to listen. I did make a motion to pull away from the wall, possibly with the vague idea of uttering a warning admonition to these indiscreet chatterers, but Warriner's ready hand pushed me back in my chair; he laid his finger upon my lips, and I had no option but to yield to his stronger will. This was war, war in which all is fair. "You've made a mess of it, my girl," went on Thaneford, "and I can't stop to help clear it up. That's flat." "You mean that you won't keep your promise?" The words were low and thick with emotion; I could not seem to recognize the ownership of the voice. "No, I don't say that at all. But I'm up to my neck at 'Thane Court,' and I was counting upon the 'Hundred' to pull me out. Give me half a chance and I'll do the square thing--by you and everybody." "What more do you want of me?" "Just keep your eyes and ears open. I saw Grimes to-day, and he thinks there is a fair possibility of breaking the will--_non compos_, you know. Why think of it! Francis Graeme never saw this Yankee Hildebrand but once in his life, and then for a couple of hours only. It stands to reason that a man in his right senses doesn't hand over a fortune as though it were nothing more than a Key West cigar. Grimes advises me to fight, and I'd like nothing better than to do it. But fighting costs a lot of money," he concluded gloomily. "You know that if I had it----" "All I know is that you haven't got it," he interrupted coldly. "For heaven's sake! don't let us get sentimental again." There was a brief silence, and then came a badly suppressed yawn, coupled with a declaration that the speaker was dog-tired and ready to fall asleep standing up. We could hear retreating footsteps, and the occasional creaking of a loose board in the tread of the staircase; then all was quiet again. "Eunice Trevor, of course," announced Warriner meditatively. "I should never have known her voice," I protested. "Exactly so. And for the very sufficient reason that she is accustomed to riding under double-wraps, as the hunting men say. A cold, calculating, iceberg sort of creature--that's the way you've thought of her." "Dare say you're right."