He had awakened with a sudden disagreeable conviction that people have been known to smother to death in closets. He stole quietly from the library and ran up stairs with not a little anxiety. Indeed so great was his dread that he would have been really relieved to see the closet door standing open as an immediate proof that it did not hide a corpse. It was, however, locked as he had left it. But as he hastened to undo it, a voice from within reassured him: [Illustration: He let McVay out of the closet] “Well, where have you been all this time?” “You may be thankful I’m back at all. It did not look like it, at one time.” “Where is Cecilia?” “Down stairs asleep.” McVay gave a little giggle. “Ah,” he said, “I bet you have had the devil of a time. I bet you wished once or twice that you had let me be the one to go.” “It wasn’t child’s play.” “Child’s play! I rather think not. These things are all well enough among men, but women!” he waved his hand; “so sensitive, so cloistered!” “Your sister behaved nobly,” said Geoffrey severely. “Bound to, Holland, bound to. Still it must have been a shock.” “It was a hard trip for any woman.” McVay looked up. “Oh,” he said, “I wasn’t speaking of the trip. I meant about me. What did she say?” “She did not say anything. She went to sleep.” “She did not say anything when you told her I was booked for the penitentiary?” “Oh,” said Geoffrey, and there was a slight pause. Then he added: “Why should I tell her what she must know.” “I tell you she knows nothing about my—profession.” “Your _profession_!” “Hasn’t a notion of it.” “What, with my sister’s coat on her back, and the Innes’ bag in her hand?” “No!” McVay drew a step nearer. “You see I told her that I had found a second-hand store where I could get things for nothing.” He chuckled, and Geoffrey withdrew with a look of repulsion that evidently disappointed the other. “That was a good idea, wasn’t it?” he asked with a faint appeal in his voice. “She thought it was likely, anyhow.” “She must be very gullable,” said Geoffrey brutally. “Or else,” said McVay with a conscious smile, “I must be a pretty good dissembler.” At this acute instance of fatuity Geoffrey, if he had followed his impulse, would have flung McVay back in the closet and locked the door. Instead, he said: “Come down stairs. I want to look up something to eat.” “Thank you,” said the burglar, “it would be a good idea.” “You need not thank me,” said Geoffrey. “I don’t take you with me for the pleasure of your company, but because I don’t dare let you out of my sight.” McVay, as was his habit when anything unpleasant was said, chose to ignore this speech.