“And what of the spy you placed in his house to search for the diary? Was there no success?” “None. Yet he searched carefully every room in the house but one.” “And why not that one?” “He could not gain access to it. The housekeeper had it locked always, by her master’s orders, and it was further guarded by being situated so peculiarly that it could only be entered by going through the housekeeper’s room. She said it was nothing but a closet with some old trunks in it, but her close watch over it proved that there was something more important.” Her eyes flashed with eagerness. “Oh, if only I could get into that house!” she cried. “Impossible, Italy. It is no place for a young girl. There would be danger in the very air.” He saw her face whiten, but he dreamed not at what terrible recollection, and continued: “No really respectable woman would even enter Percy Seabright’s bachelor home. It is a sort of club-house for his intimate friends, and I think they sometimes take women there--second-rate dancers, singers, and actresses who are reckless of their reputations. To these they give suppers and wine-parties. You see how it is, Italy.” “Yes, Mr. Gardner, and it makes me frantic. I am so sure that a woman would succeed where a man would fail.” “But, my child, I sent a female detective when my man failed. Even she was no match for the caution of Mrs. Smith, the wary housekeeper, who guards the hidden room.” She made a gesture of despair, and tore up and down the room like some wild caged thing, her long white silk train sweeping behind her on the thick carpet, her jewels flashing, and the old lawyer watched her with yearning sympathy. He longed to help her, but fate seemed to baffle him at every turn. Suddenly she paused before him with a queenly air, and cried out impetuously: “Mr. Gardner, I swear to you I believe that if I could stand in the presence of that woman, that housekeeper, I could force her to deliver me the key of the room she guards so jealously.” “Are you mad, child?” “No, Mr. Gardner, only desperate with baffled energy. Oh, come, you and your wife, with me to that house, and let me try. Surely there would be no danger for me then! Oh, come, come! My carriage waits. We can leave Mr. Harlow here till our return.” Something in her face and voice compelled him to accede. “Wait here, and I will bring my wife,” he said, hastening away, and, on returning, he had his wife’s consent. Directly the three entered the carriage and were driven rapidly to Percy Seabright’s secluded home. Mrs. Gardner had taken the precaution to wrap Italy and herself in long, dark-hooded cloaks, with veils, so that there was no chance of recognition. Thus equipped, they entered the house when the door was opened to them at Mr. Gardner’s summons with the bell. They were shown to the parlor that Italy remembered so well, with the portrait of Percy Seabright smiling from the wall.