The door opened and two shadows passed down the steps. He returned hastily, saw them into the carriage, and stood with uncovered head, a lump in his throat, as they drove on. Then he went directly to his rooms, and, exhausted by the emotions of the day, fell heavily into a sleep that was almost a stupor. *CHAPTER XV* The next morning he was awakened by Gunther’s abrupt hand. "Up, up, you sluggard!" He jumped out hastily and found it was almost half-past eight. "Nice time to sleep," said Gunther sarcastically. "Have you forgotten a little visit we’re to make to that sweet person, Mr. Garraboy? You’ve got just twenty-two minutes to beautify yourself and fill the inner being." "If we’re to see your charming friend, Mr. Garraboy," said Gunther half an hour later, as they were speeding for the congested, stirring, lower city, "we’ve got to nip our man before the opening of the Stock Exchange. Now let’s hear what happened at Mrs. Kildair’s last night." The events in which Mrs. Bloodgood was concerned were sealed in confidence; but Beecher felt at liberty to recount to his friend the bare details of McKenna’s visit as he had known them. "What the deuce is behind it all?" said Gunther, puzzled. "I got McKenna on the wire and that’s all he would tell me. What’s the reason she wants to bottle up everything? What’s her mix-up with Slade? Depend upon it, Ted, that woman knows more than we do—or why should she expect the ring to be returned? She’s got a reason for that." "If it’s returned," said Beecher, "it’s Mrs. Bloodgood who took it." "Never! No woman ever got that ring out of the apartment—not alone; not a Mrs. Bloodgood, or a Nan Charters, or a Mrs. Cheever, or—" Suddenly he reflected. "Ted, there’s one person I’d like to meet." "Miss Lille?" "Yes. Supposing we look her up a little more." "I’ve thought quite a lot about her," said Beecher musingly; and, remembering all at once her self-possession on the night of the theft, he added: "There’s nothing weak about her certainly; still, I can’t see the motive." They had left behind them the free, unbounded sky, boring their way through the towering sides of the sky-scraping district, where buildings rose in regular, comb-like structures, with their thousands of human cells tenanted by human bees. Entering a street where the obstructed sun never shone, they were swept on by the feverish rush of fellow-beings and shot up sixteen stories to their destination. The office-boy in the antechamber took their cards with the condescension which only an office-boy between the ages of twelve and sixteen can feel, and disappeared within. "The old screw’ll keep us waiting half an hour, said Gunther, who disliked all delays. "Bet he’s trying to figure out what we’re here for?" said Beecher, who admitted to himself a delicious satisfaction at the prospective humiliation of the man he cordially disliked.