"Your surprise and indignation are only natural, Mrs. Hedderwick," she said coolly, "but they will be abated when you learn that our untimely visit is in connection with a police affair." Her instinct was right. Curiosity conquered the churchwarden's wife, where an appeal to pity or kindred emotions would have failed. She relaxed her frigid attitude and said, "Indeed?" "Yes," pursued Beatrice. "I can not tell you all at present, but be assured that if it ever comes into court your evidence will be of value." Mrs. Hedderwick smoothed her dressing-gown and determined to appear in the witness-box in mauve. "Will you just tell us this: did any stranger call here this evening?" "Yes," answered Mrs. Hedderwick, divided between resentment and a thirst for knowledge. "A lady, or at least a female, called and inquired for my husband." "A lady!" ejaculated Mr. Hedderwick. "This promises well----" His wife's eye compelled him again to his seat. "I think, Robert, if you evinced less interest in such a subject it would be more seemly. The female in question asked if she might wait, as she wished to beg a subscription for an anti-suffragist league. I am in sympathy with such an object and allowed her to remain. In the course of our conversation she referred to an article on dress in one of the women's papers. I happened to have the journal and offered to fetch it; she agreed, thinking that the plate of a new blouse might suit my style." "So you left her alone!" broke in Lionel. "For a bare two minutes. When I returned she was still there. We discussed the blouse for a while, and presently she said that she must go, but would return later." "Plagiarist!" said Beatrice with a smile. "Did you happen to notice how she was dressed?" "I never notice such things," said Mrs. Hedderwick with dignity. "Dress is not one of my foibles. But after she had gone I picked up a handkerchief which I suppose she had dropped. It was marked----" "Wait!" said Mr. Hedderwick suddenly. "What is her name?" he asked, turning to Beatrice. "Whose, Robert?" queried his wife. "Oh, bother!" he said, irritation lending him courage. "Your maid's." "Mizzi Schmidt." "And the initials, Alicia?" "M. S." Mr. Hedderwick, his head full of romantic notions of chivalry, forgetting the urgent need of circumspection, rose. He advanced toward Beatrice, raised her hand, and, to the horror of his wife, kissed it solemnly. "I beg your pardon," he said; "there is no anticlimax. Now that you know Mizzi is the thief you will want to be off. Good-by and good luck." They took him at his word and rose. "Good-by," said Beatrice in the most ordinary voice. "Thank you so much for your help--and yours, too, Mrs. Hedderwick. So sorry we had to break into your house. Good-by. Now, Mr. Mortimer!" "Good-by," said Lionel; "thanks most awfully. I felt you were a sportsman as soon as I saw you." They were in the hall by this time, and the magnanimous churchwarden was already opening the door.