"Well, Pepper rather thought a novel of some sort; I'd a talk with him afterwards; but I suppose he only knows what Mrs. Jeffries tells him. It wouldn't surprise me in the least that poor old Jeff dabbled a bit in that sort of thing. I'm quite sure he'd have made a painter. One of the big sort he was, the Titian, Leonardo, Cellini sort--the big men, who can take an art or so in their stride." "What made Sir Julius think it might be a novel?" Louie hoped that her new agitation did not show. "My dear girl, you know as much about it as I do." "And it was in shorthand?" she demanded. "Yes." "His own?" "I'm sure I can't say. It was in his desk though. Why?" "And you say Mrs. Jeffries is reading it herself?" "Well, when Pepper suggested you--and a Miss Levey, I remember, whoever she is----" "Miriam Levey? Yes?" Louie said, with a jerk. Billy looked hard at her. "What's the matter?" he said abruptly. "You're as queer as Mrs. Jeffries herself was about it." "She was queer? How, queer?" "Oh, I don't know. How can one describe things like that--just impressions one gets?" "Did she strike you as queer because she'd perhaps read some of it?" "Well, I understand it was private----" "You mean she _must_ have read some of it to find that out?" "I suppose so." Again Louie had that curious crawling of her flesh. She hesitated for a moment; then, slowly: "What sort of terms are you on with Mrs. Jeffries, Billy?" Billy stared. "Oh, quite all right--I don't understand----" "Have you any influence over her?" "What sort of influence?" Louie hesitated again. After all, it might be only a fear. She went on. "Say influence enough to advise her about reading that journal, or novel, or whatever it is?" "Lord, no!" said Billy. "I was his friend, hardly hers, you see." "Well, if it could be put as a matter of friendship with him?" Louie was speaking almost feverishly now. "I wish I knew exactly what you meant," said Billy. "Order me another cup of coffee. That's what I can't tell you, because I don't know myself. But let me ask another question. Do you happen to know whether there are any real names in this thing, whatever it is?" "Really, I----" "Just a moment. I'll tell you why I asked. If this is a journal, and has names of people in it, the chances are mine's there." Billy was quick enough. He nodded. "I see; at least I think I see. You mean about his coming in that night and Mrs. Jeffries possibly not liking it? Well, to tell the truth I don't think she did much. I could have bitten my tongue out when I'd told her; but I suppose everybody doesn't look on these things quite as we do. You mean in a word--excuse me for putting it rather stupidly--that she's jealous and thinks she can find out the truth? Supposing there was any 'truth' to find out, I mean?" "That's the idea. Of course there was no 'truth.'" "Well? Why not let her discover that and make her happy, poor thing? You see, he was her husband."