“Sure, sor, I called to her. ‘Let me out!’ I says. ‘Get out yerself!’ she says and laughed at me. Then I heard her running down the hall, and next minute the outside door shut.” “Well, Larry,” I gasped, between spasms of laughter, “you _are_ an easy mark! How did you get out finally?” “Bruk out a panel at last and shot the bolt back. But it was hot work in that closet. What do you suppose she wanted, sor?” “Did you leave the door open—our front door—when you started out with her?” I asked him. Larry scratched his head and suddenly he pulled a long face. “Now I come to think av ut, I belave I did, sor.” “I believe you did too, Larry,” I laughed. “Has she been in here, sor?” he asked more anxiously, glancing about the room. “She has that!” I told him. For once Larry was completely crestfallen. “Faith, sor, I’ll never belave a woman again!” he said. Chapter XI Black Friday I sent Larry to get some lunch ready, and in the interval went over my papers again to be sure that nothing else was missing. I had nothing that could possibly involve me in the eyes of the gang, as I had long since destroyed the Chief’s letter and I decided that Mrs. Fawcette’s visit must have been entirely fruitless. But a vague uneasiness sent me on a further search for the card-case, and when Larry arrived with the lunch I questioned him about it. “Twas there yesterday, sor. Maybe ye wud have slipped it into a pocket, the way ye wud be lavin’ a cyard on wan av thim ladies, sor. For ’tis not here now.” “I can see it isn’t, thank you very much,” I told him, “And it’s not in a pocket either, I’ve looked.” Larry grinned. Then, as he circled the table, his stubby hands full of dishes, his eyes lost their sparkle and his face settled into painful lines of thought. “Sor,” said he, “what way did that—lady—know I was by mesilf here this morning? Was she a friend av yer honor?” “She was, Larry. That is to say, an acquaintance.” “Well, what way she did know I was by mesilf——” “Good Lord, how do I know, Larry? No, wait a minute. Yes, I do know. Mrs. Furneau told her, Larry. Why?” “I wondered was she spyin’ on ye, sor. That’s all.” A look of comical indignation swept over his face again. “But she’s a dangerous woman, sor,” he told me earnestly. I laughed. “All women are dangerous to you, Larry. But you’re perfectly right. Never mind, though. There’s no harm done.” “I’m not so sure about that, sor,” said Larry. What with listening to Larry’s views on women in general and Mrs. Fawcette in particular, while I ate lunch, it was nearly two o’clock before I had finished. Larry consumed a little more time, clearing the table, and with one thing and another, we did not leave the apartment until well after two.