“I have no doubt but that the affair is exceedingly humorous,” said Kenyon. He poured out some Scotch, added a little hot water and sugar, and stirred the mixture meditatively. “But, do you know, I can’t see it. I suppose our points of view are different.” He sipped the toddy, found it to his satisfaction, and then added: “However, I fancy that we have been over all that before.” “Humorous!” exclaimed Webster. “Why, it’s riotous. Your matter-of-fact acceptance of the situation is really the funniest thing I ever saw. But,” and his manner changed to one of curiosity, “how did you get out of Farbush’s house without having the police called upon?” “I hardly think there was any chance of that, at the worst. But, as it was, I simply laid low, as we used to say at school. Farbush stormed and raved and threatened down below, and waved his revolver for a time, while the others protested. I could not quite gather what it was about, for they all spoke at once. But it had something to do with the safe, for they all three came up the stairs, I lying snug behind an offset in the wall while they entered the office.” “Then, when Farbush saw the result of your acetylene flame, I suppose there was a renewal of the tempest?” “It had begun when I slipped down the stairs,” answered Kenyon. “But I was safely out at the front door, and on my way down Fifth Avenue, I suppose, before it reached its height.” “The estate of Stephen Austin,” mused Webster. “That, apparently, is what all this trouble is about.” “From the clever moves of the girl who plucked the envelope from my hands in Farbush’s office, and her anxiety to get safely away with it, I should think so myself.” “I can hardly understand how she got into the office--unless there was more than one door.” “There was not.” “But you saw her leave the room, and you locked the door behind her.” “I locked the door, yes. But I did _not_ see her leave the room.” Webster looked at his friend inquiringly. “I distinctly remember you saying that she walked to the door and blew out the candle.” “Precisely; but I said nothing about seeing her leave the room.” “By George!” Webster slapped his knee suddenly. “It was a bluff. She did not go out, at all.” “No; she was in the office all the time I worked upon the safe. I reasoned the matter out afterwards. While she was fumbling with the combination, she must have caught sight of me. It was a shadow, perhaps, or more likely my reflection in the polished door of the safe. When she covered her face with her hands, I thought she was crying of disappointment; but really she must have been stifling a scream, or shrewdly thinking up a plan of action.” “I prefer the last,” stated Webster.