“I wish we could think of some way of securing ourselves from interruption. Nixon does not like me, and will be sure to interest himself in our movements if he sees us go down that hall together.” “Is there any harm in that?” “There might be. He is suspicious of me, which makes it impossible for one to count upon his conduct. If he saw us meddling with the cabinet, he would be very apt to rush with his complaints to Mrs. Packard, and I am not ready yet to take her into our confidence. I want first to be sure that my surmises are correct.” “You are quite right.” If any sarcasm tinged this admission, he successfully hid it. “I think I can dispose of Nixon for a short time,” he went on. “You are bent upon meddling with that vestibule floor?” “Yes.” “Even if I should advise not?” “Yes, Mr. Steele; even if you roused the household and called Mrs. Packard down to witness my folly. But I should prefer to make my experiments quickly and without any other witness than yourself. I am not without some pride to counterbalance my presumption.” We had come to a stand before the door as I said this. As I finished, he laid his hand on the knob, saying kindly: “Your wishes shall be considered. Take a seat in the library, Miss Saunders, and in a few moments I will join you. I have a task for Nixon which will keep him employed for some time.” At this he opened the door and I glided out. Making my way to the library I hastened in and threw myself into one of its great chairs. In another minute I heard Mr. Steele summon Nixon, and in the short interview which followed between them heard enough to comprehend that he was loading the old butler’s arms with a large mass of documents and papers for immediate consumption in the furnace. Nixon was not to leave till they were all safely consumed. The grumble which followed from the old fellow’s lips was not the most cheerful sound in the world, but he went back with his pile. Presently I heard the furnace door rattle and caught the smell, which I was careful to explain to Ellen as she went by the library door on her way up-stairs, lest Mrs. Packard should be alarmed and come running down to see what was the matter. The next moment Mr. Steele appeared in the doorway. “Now what are we to do?” said he. I led the way to what I have sometimes called “the recess” for lack of a better name. “This is the place,” I cried, adding a few explanations as I saw the curiosity with which he now surveyed its various features. “Don’t you see now that cabinet leans to the left? I declare it leans more than it did yesterday; the floor certainly dips at that point.” He cast a glance where I pointed and instinctively put out his hand, but let it fall as I remarked: “The cabinet is not so very heavy. If I take out a few of those big pieces of pottery, don’t you think we could lift it away from this corner?” “And what would you do then?”