“How odd!” exclaimed the little minx with widely opened eyes and an air of guileless innocence. “Whatever can it mean? Nothing serious I am sure, for the woman did not even know me. She was employed to do this work by Madame Pirot.” “Didn’t you know that it was to be done here?” “No. I thought Madame Pirot’s own girls did her embroidery for her.” “So that you were surprised--” “Wasn’t I!” “To get our message.” “I didn’t know what to make of it.” The earnest, half-injured look with which she uttered this disclaimer, did its appointed work. The detective accepted her for what she seemed and, oblivious to the reporter’s satirical gesture, crossed to the work-room door, which he threw wide open with the remark: “I should be glad to have you open that box in our presence. It is undoubtedly all right, but we wish to be sure. You know what the box should contain?” “Oh, yes, indeed; pillow-cases and sheets, with a big S embroidered on them.” “Very well. Shall I undo the string for you?” “I shall be much obliged,” said she, her eye flashing quickly about the room before settling down upon the knot he was deftly loosening. Her brother, gazing indifferently in from the doorway, hardly noticed this look; but the reporter at his back did, though he failed to detect its penetrating quality. “Your name is on the other side,” observed the detective as he drew away the string and turned the package over. The smile which just lifted the corner of her lips was not in answer to this remark, but to her recognition of her employer’s handwriting in the words under her name: Send without opening. She had not misjudged him. “The cover you may like to take off yourself,” suggested the officer, as he lifted the box out of its wrapper. “Oh, I don’t mind. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in embroidered linen. Or perhaps that is not what you are looking for?” No one answered. All were busy watching her whip off the lid and lift out the pile of sheets and pillow-cases with which the box was closely packed. “Shall I unfold them?” she asked. The detective nodded. Taking out the topmost sheet, she shook it open. Then the next and the next till she reached the bottom of the box. Nothing of a criminating nature came to light. The box as well as its contents was without mystery of any kind. This was not an unexpected result of course, but the smile with which she began to refold the pieces and throw them back into the box, revealed one of her dimples which was almost as dangerous to the casual observer as when it revealed both. “There,” she exclaimed, “you see! Household linen exactly as I said. Now may I go home?” “Certainly, Miss Strange.” The detective stole a sly glance at the reporter. She was not going in for the horrors then after all.