“No telegrams, miss; but the telephone is going every instant, ’most all of them are reporters.” “Don’t give out any information, Murray,” she cautioned. “Certainly not, miss.” And he hurried away. Millicent waited until she heard the door at the foot of the attic stairs close, then bent over the trunk and again took out the ledger and carefully tore out a handful of pages. Before replacing the ledger in its hiding-place she felt about under the false bottom until convinced that the article she sought was still there, after which she put back the ledger and the false bottom, rearranged the silks and laces, put in the tray, and locked the trunk. “If you are not going to drink your coffee, I will,” announced a voice to her left, and a man stepped out from behind the Japanese screen. A low cry escaped Millicent, and her hands closed spasmodically over the pages torn from her ledger. “Hugh!” she gasped. “Where--where have you been?” “In town.” Wyndham stopped by the tray and, picking up the plate of sandwiches, handed it to Millicent. She shook her head. “No?” he queried; “then I’ll eat your share.” He poured out a cup of coffee and drank it clear, almost at a gulp. “That’s delicious,” he declared. “I had no idea I was so cold and hungry. Can’t I help you get up?” But Millicent declined his proffered assistance, and rose somewhat clumsily, both hands engaged in pressing the torn sheets into the smallest possible compass. “Where have you been, Hugh?” she asked again. “Sitting on a trunk behind that screen waiting for Murray to go downstairs,” he responded, refilling his cup. “Then you came up to the attic just after he did?” “In his wake, so to speak.” He shot a questioning look at her. “Everyone appears to be out this afternoon.” “Yes.” Millicent carefully turned her back to the dormer window and sat down on the arm of her easy-chair. “You haven’t answered my question, Hugh--where have you been ever since the inquest?” “At the club.” Wyndham helped himself to another sandwich. “Awfully sorry I couldn’t get in touch with Dorothy Deane and deliver your message. I was sorry to disappoint you.” “But I wasn’t disappointed. She received the message in time and came last night.” Wyndham seemed to have some difficulty swallowing his coffee. “Is she still here?” he inquired as soon as he could speak. “Yes. Mother insisted that she could run her social column from here as well as from her boarding-house. Most of the social news is gathered over the telephone,” explained Millicent vaguely. “And mother promised to motor in to the office every afternoon and bring her out again in the evening.” Wyndham set his coffee-cup back on its saucer with small regard for its perishable qualities. “I might have known that she would come,” he said, half to himself; then louder: “Intimate friends don’t have to be told when they are needed.” “Dorothy has so much tact--”