Henriette was a perfect picture of despair. "I don't suppose we can do anything now," said Mrs. Shadd, ruefully. "It's too late. The cards have gone to everybody. You have all the supper--not a sandwich has come to my house--and I presume all of Mr. Jockobinski's instruments as well have come here." Henriette turned to me. "All, madame," said I, briefly. "Well," said Mrs. Shadd, tapping the floor nervously with her toe. "I don't understand it. _I never_ wrote that note." "Oh, but Mrs. Shadd--I have it here," said Henriette, opening her purse and extracting the paper. "You can read it for yourself. What else could I do after that?" Innocence on a monument could have appeared no freer of guile than Henriette at that moment. She handed the note to Mrs. Shadd, who perused it with growing amazement. "Isn't that your handwriting--and your crest and your paper?" asked Henriette, appealingly. "It certainly looks like it," said Mrs. Shadd. "If I didn't know I _hadn't_ written it I would have sworn I had. Where could it have come from?" "I supposed it came from Onyx House," said Henriette simply, glancing at the envelope. "Well--it's a very mysterious affair," said Mrs. Shadd, rising, "and I--oh, well, my dear woman, I--I can't blame you--indeed, after all you have done I ought to be--and really am--very much obliged to you. Only--" "Whom did you have at dinner Wednesday night, dear?" asked Henriette. "Only the Duke and Duchess of Snarleyow and--mercy! I wonder if he could have done it!" "Who?" asked Henriette. "_Tommy Dare!_" ejaculated Mrs. Shadd, her eyes beginning to twinkle. "Do you suppose this is one of Tommy Dare's jokes?" "H'm!" mused Henriette, and then she laughed. "It wouldn't be unlike him, would it?" "Not a bit, the naughty boy!" cried Mrs. Shadd. "That's it, Mrs. Van Raffles, as certainly as we stand here. Suppose, just to worry him, we never let on that anything out of the ordinary has happened, eh?" "Splendid!" said Henriette, with enthusiasm. "Let's act as if all turned out just as we expected, and, best of all, _never even mention it to him, or to Bunderby his confederate, neither of us, eh_?" "Never!" said Mrs. Shadd, rising and kissing Henriette good-bye. "That's the best way out of it. If we did we'd be the laughing-stock of all Newport. But some day in the distant future Tommy Dare would better look out for Pauline Shadd, Mrs. Van Raffles." And so it was agreed, and Henriette successfully landed Mrs. Shadd's musicale. Incidentally, Jockobinski was very affable and the function went off well. Everybody was there and no one would for a moment have thought that there was anything strange in the transfer of the scene from Onyx House to Bolivar Lodge. "Who wrote that letter, Henriette?" I asked late in the evening when the last guest had gone. "Who do you suppose, Bunny, my boy?" she asked with a grin. "Bunderby?" "No," said I. "You've guessed right," said Henriette.