“You trying to kid me, customer?” was her cautious reply. “If no, it depends upon where said lady lives. Fifth Avenue in the Sixties? Ain’t you flapping kinda high? I’d say anywheres from ten _A.M._ to twelve noon. Why not jingle up her maid and ask? Oh, you’re welcome and to spare. Keep the change.” Before entering the nearest cigar store to act on this suggestion, Pape remembered that last night the Sturgis’ phone had been declared useless—its wires cut. He called for the repair department of the company. The voice with a rather dubious “smile” at the other end of the line agreed to enquire just when the number would be restored to service. “Say, Useless,” came the answer in a moment, “that line’s in order. Hasn’t been out. I just got an O. K. over it. You must have got wrong information from one of our centrals. Excuse, please.” He would have “excused” with more pleasure if his simple question had not started a series of others more involved. How did a ’phone fallacy fit into the robbery plot? Why had the wheezy butler, Jasper, been sent afoot to the nearest police station if the wires had not been cut? Did Jane know or did she not that the line was in order when she stopped him in his attempt to call Headquarters? He decided not to “jingle her maid” at once but to await the hour first suggested by the “blond” cashier before asking answers. Jane Lauderdale looked the kind of girl who would have arisen by ten _a.m._ At any rate, he would give her benefit of doubt. But no mental preparation during the interim, as to what tack her temper might take, in any way prepared him for that morning’s second shock. Jasper answered—there was no mistaking his voice. Pape followed the announcement of his name with a comment over the speed with which the telephone had been fixed, to which the born butler replied smoothly, impersonally, non-committally. “Yes, Mr. Pape. The Telephone Company is exceedingly efficient, sir.” The request for speech with Miss Lauderdale was met with equal competence. “The family is all out. They left early this morning for the country, sir, to seek a few days of peace and quiet.” “All of them?” “Yes, Mr. Pape, all of them.” “What’s their address?” “They left no address. They never do, sir, when they go for peace and quiet. Good day, sir.” With which, actually, that sebacious, ostentatious, fallacious importation had hung up on him. To Pape’s daily inquiries since Jasper had replied with consistent politeness, if with consistent lack of information. The Westerner hated him for his very perfection in his part; was inclined to the belief that America was no place for an intelligence limited to being a butler. What about his—Why-Not’s—peace and quiet? Wasn’t _he_ entitled to any such? Indignation had flung with him out of the booth that first morning; had matched his pace since; was riding with him to-day.