But presently things began to happen with such avalanching rapidity of action that there was not even a second to spare for speculation upon the vast gap between their social positions. The lights had hardly been switched on before the big fellow put the sharp query to his companion: "Watkins, is this room just as you left it when you went away with Mr. Gladwin?" "I don't know, sir," replied Watkins, with characteristic deference of tone. "Bateato, the Jap, closed the house." "H'm," said the other, laying his cane and hat on a table and drawing from the pocket of his light overcoat a blue print diagram of the house. Casting his eyes about the room, he unfolded the diagram and pointed to it, nodding his head behind him for Watkins to come and look. "We're in this room now," he said, easily. "Yes, sir." "Out that way is the corridor to the kitchen." He pointed to the panel-like door which a few minutes before had swallowed the very much undressed Officer 666. "Yes, sir." "And there's no other way out save through the front door or by way of this balcony behind those curtains?" "No, sir." "And," still running his finger over the diagram, "on the floor above are Gladwin's apartments." "Yes, sir, at the head of the stairs--first door to the left." "H'm, very good," slipping the diagram back into his pocket and lifting his eyes to the great portrait of the ancestral Gladwin. "Ah!" he exclaimed suddenly and with palpable relish, "that's a Stuart! Is that the great-grandfather, Watkins?" "Yes, sir," responded Watkins, without any of his companion's enthusiasm. "H'm," with the same grim emphasis, and off came the overcoat to be carelessly tossed across his hat and stick. His eye fell upon the great antique chest by the wall. He lifted the lid to inspect its void interior. Glancing up above it, he motioned to Watkins and said: "Here, help me get this out of the way." Watkins glided to one end of the chest and together they hauled it clear of the wall. This done, he addressed Watkins as if he were but a creature to command: "I can manage alone in here, but I want to be ready to leave by the time Miss Burton arrives. You go outside and wait in the car--and keep a sharp lookout." Watkins bowed himself out with his stereotyped, "Yes, sir," and the door clicked gently after him. The now lone invader returned to his interested survey of the paintings that covered the walls, turning easily on his heel until his line of vision embraced "The Blue Boy." From his difficult peephole Travers Gladwin could see the sharp, stern features wrinkle with smiles before the intruder laughed lightly and breathed with seeming great enjoyment: "Ha! The Blue Boy." The smile went out as swiftly as it had come and was replaced by an utterly different expression as he swung about and visualized the Rembrandt on the wall above where the great empty chest had stood.