“I haven’t been to bed at all,” she said at last. “I’ve never slept in a room with a balcony before, and I couldn’t resist going out on to this balcony to see how beautiful the night was. And I began to think what a splendid time we were having, and I watched the stars, and I heard the clock strike in the tower over there, and the gardens looked so beautiful in the starlight, and a long, long time must have passed. And then I saw a man standing under my window. He was a man dressed in blue, with grey hair, and he began to talk to me.” “And why didn’t you tell him to go away, my dear?” “He seemed so sad, and he said such interesting things. Pauline, darling, there’s something very, very wrong in this house--some mystery! He told me. No one could help believing what he says, and he has such a beautiful voice. I cried, almost, in listening to him.” “But who was he?” “I think he must be some relative,” said Rosie. “I think so. He didn’t say. What he did say was that there was a black box which it was absolutely necessary he must have. Oh, Pauline, I’m sure he isn’t a thief! He’s a man who has suffered a great deal, and he asked me to get the box for him, and his face was so sad--well, I said I would. And he told me exactly where it was.” “Where did he say it was?” “He said it was under Mrs. Ilam’s pillow; and it was, true enough.” “How do you know?” cried Pauline, aghast. “I crept into your room, and lifted Mrs. Ilam’s head, and took the box. You were fast asleep. He asked me to see if you were asleep, and, if you were, not to wake you. So I came as quietly as a mouse.” “And you obeyed him like that?” murmured Pauline, astounded. “I couldn’t help it. I felt so sorry for him. And his voice was so----” “Rosie!” said Pauline. “You used to be sensible enough!” “I couldn’t help it!” moaned Rosie again. CHAPTER XVIII--An Arrangement for a Marriage Juliette D’Avray had a small sitting-room of her own in the Carpentaria bungalow. It was on the first floor, and it looked west, whereas Carpentaria’s study and bedroom both looked north, on the avenue. Three days after the affair of the black box, Carpentaria ran hastily up the stairs of his house and touched the knob of the door of Juliette’s sitting-room, and then he drew back his hand, nervous and hesitant. He was evidently perturbed, and he pulled his fine beard in a series of quick twitches, and then he rapped smartly on the door and coughed. “Juliette!” he cried. He was very much surprised to discover that he had not got complete control of his voice. It broke in the middle of his half-sister’s name. “I must do better than this,” he thought, trying to command himself. There was a pause. “Juliette!” he cried again, more firmly. The word was scarcely out of his mouth when the door opened wide, and Juliette stood before him. They gazed at each other for a fraction of a second, as if inimically.