“Well,” observed Dora to its unresponsive surface, “God help his wife!” Mr. Foster’s next few minutes were busy ones. Having informed his Agatha that, in consequence of her headache, he had decided now to cancel the expedition to Abingchester, he told her she was wanted on the telephone; he then made use of her absence to extract from her drawers certain surprising objects. A visit to the spare-room and elsewhere followed, and then, cautiously as any Boy Scout, Mr. Foster made his way back to the tool-shed, his burdens under either arm. On the floor of that refuge he dumped before his astonished suppliant a camp-bed, two blankets, a pillow and coverlet, a chaste cambric nightgown with high collar and cuffs, a pink flannel dressing-jacket, and a basket of food. When Mr. Foster did a thing, he did it well. He proceeded to erect the camp-bed and set out the contents of the basket upon an inverted wheelbarrow. “Now sit down and enjoy yourself,” admonished Mr. Foster. “I expect you’re starving, so don’t stint yourself. There’s plenty more where that came from. And don’t you worry, girlie. I’ve got to go away for a minute or two now, but I’m going to see you through this.” With a reassuring smile he was gone. Again the door clicked behind him. Again Dora gazed at its unresponsive surface. This time her expression was a little more intense. There were few things Dora really objected to in this world, but being called “girlie” was one of them. She waited until such time as she judged the coast to be quite clear, then tried the door. The next moment she tried it again, and again, and again. Indubitably it was locked. “Damn!” said Miss Howard with feeling, and deliberately broke a small dibber. Mr. Foster’s reason for retiring was twofold. He wanted to look very carefully up and down the main road, because it would be horrid to be killed like a beetle without any warning and there is never any harm in keeping a weather-eye open for one’s potential murderer. But most of all he wanted to make sure that Agatha was safely occupied. Mr. Foster had his doubts as to how Agatha would regard the presence of this dangerous young woman in his tool-shed.