For his part, he was in the liveliest mood, an astounding circumstance remembering that he had had practically no sleep for thirty-six hours. In an indefinable way he communicated to her some of his own vitality. She found herself suddenly very wide awake. “You have seen the police, of course?” Mr. Reeder sat on a chair facing her, leaning on the handle of his umbrella, his hat carefully deposited on the floor by his side. “And you have told them everything? It is very wise. The key, now--did you tell them about the key?” She went very red. She was (thought Mr. Reeder) almost as pretty when she was red as when she was white. “The key?” She could fence, a little desperately, with the question, although she knew just what he meant. “At the cottage last night you showed me two keys--one the key of the house, the other, from its shape and make, the key of a safe deposit.” Margot nodded. “Yes. I suppose I should have told them that. But Mr. Wentford----” “Asked you never to tell. That is why he had two keys, one for you and one for himself.” “He hated paying taxes----” she began. “Did he ever come up to town?” “Only on very wet days and foggy days. I have never been to the safe deposit, Mr. Reeder. Anything that is there he placed himself. I only had the key in case of accidents.” “What was he afraid of--did he ever tell you?” She shook her head. “He was terribly afraid of something. He did all his own housework and cooking--he would never have anybody in. A gardener used to come every few days and look after the electric light plant, and Mr. Wentford used to pay him through the window. He was afraid of bombs--you’ve seen the cage round the window in his bedroom? He had that put there for fear somebody should throw in a bomb whilst he was asleep. I can’t tell you what precautions he took. Except myself and the policeman, and once Mr. Enward the lawyer, nobody has ever entered that house. His linen was put outside the door every week and left at the door. He had an apparatus for testing milk and he analysed every drop that was left at the house before he drank it--he practically lived on milk. It wasn’t so bad when I first went to him--I was sixteen then--but it got worse and worse as the years went on.” “He had two telephones in the house,” said Mr. Reeder. “That was rather extravagant.” “He was afraid of being cut off. The second one was connected by underground wires--it cost him an awful lot of money.” She heaved a deep, relieved sigh. “Now I’ve told everything, and my conscience is clear. Shall I get the keys?” “They are for Mr. Gaylor,” said Mr. Reeder hastily. “I think you had better keep them and give them to nobody else. Not even to the person who calls to-night.” “Who is calling to-night?” she asked. Mr. Reeder avoided the question. He looked at Mrs. Grible, grim and silent. “Would you mind--er--waiting outside?” The obedient woman melted from the room.