"Never mind about explaining now," interrupted Jack. "Go down and stop that racket before they break in the doors. And thank God you're here just in time, Matilda! You're just the person to do it: housekeeper, caretaker. But be careful if they're reporters. Now, hurry." Jack and Mary scuttled back to the haven of upstairs, and Matilda shivered down through the blackness. As she passed through the lower hall, a hand reached out of the dark and touched her. She managed not to cry out. "Don't let them know about me!" implored Mrs. De Peyster. "I'll--I'll do my best, ma'am," quavered Matilda, and glided weakly on. When she opened the servants' door, a dripping policeman caught her arm. "Down here, Bill," he called to the man battering at the door above; and a minute later two officers were inside, and the door was closed, and a light was flashing in Matilda's face. "Now, old girl," said the first officer, tightly gripping her arm and giving it that twist which if a policeman does not give an arm he is no policeman, "what's your little game, eh?" "I--I live here, sir. I'm the housekeeper." "Now don't try to put that over on us. You know you ain't." "You must be new policemen, in this neighborhood," trembled Matilda, "or you'd know I am." "We may be new cops, but we don't fall for old stuff like that. I was talkin' to Mrs. De Peyster's coachman only yesterday. He told me the housekeeper wasn't here no more. So better change your line o' dope. Where's the other one?" "Wha--what other one?" "The one what come in here with you." "I'm the only person in the house," Matilda tried to declare valiantly. "Drop it!" said the officer. "Didn't the boss tell us to keep our eyes on these here millionaires' closed houses; all kinds o' slick crooks likely to clean 'em out. An' didn't we see two women come in this house,--hey, Bill?" "Sure--I was a block off, but I seen 'em plain as day," said Bill. "So I guess," again the twist that proved him a policeman, "you'd better lead us to your pal." He pushed her before him, lighting the way with his flash-lantern, up stairways and back into the dining-room, where she turned on the one shaded electric bulb that had been left connected. In Matilda all hope was gone; resistance was useless; fate had conquered. And when the officer again demanded that she bring forth her accomplice, she dumbly and obediently made search; and finally brought Mrs. De Peyster forth from the china closet. The officer pulled up Mrs. De Peyster's veil, and closely scanned her features; which, to be just to the officer, were so distorted that they bore little semblance to the Mrs. De Peyster of her portraits. "Recognize her, Bill?" he queried. "Looks a bit like the pictures of Chicago Sal," said Bill. "But I ain't ever handled her. I guess she ain't worked none around New York."