"Come inside, Mees," he said with hospitable intent. "My master will return in one little moment. He is in de garage and I will go at once and tell him that you are here. It is cold, yes?" as the rising wind blew the daily papers off the hall table. He closed the door with alacrity and led the way into the library. "Sit down, Mees, and be comfortable." Miriam hardly noticed his departure. The long drive over had brought reflection in its train and she was regretting her hasty action. She glanced about the library, taking in, as Alan had done the night before, its suggestion of cultivation, its homelike atmosphere. Guy Trenholm's personality permeated the room. She did not sit down, as Pablo had suggested, but remained by the table in deep thought, and Trenholm, about to enter the room, stopped in the doorway and studied her intently. The proud poise of her head, her becoming toque, her plain, but well-fitting coat, her vivid coloring, made more brilliant by her drive in the wind, all were a fitting complement to the setting in which she stood. Trenholm caught his breath and his heart beat more quickly, but his expression and voice conveyed no feeling beyond a courteous welcome as he stepped forward to greet her. "Won't you sit down?" he asked, pulling forward a chair. "I am sorry to have kept you waiting. Let me help you with your coat." Miriam thanked him, then sat down and waited for him to take the chair opposite hers. As he looked at her inquiringly, she came directly to the point. Opening her hand bag, she took out the letter bearing the Canadian postage and held it up. "I found this letter," she said, "when on duty last night. It was tucked in one of the chairs in Mrs. Nash's bedroom. I bring it to you as I found it--unopened." Trenholm took the letter from her outstretched hand, and turned it over several times before making any comment. "And what is there about the letter to have attracted your attention, Miss Ward?" he finally asked, and wondered at the look in her eyes. "The seal," she said simply. "It matches this," and she drew out of her bag the half-burnt envelope and turned it over so that he could view the flap with its black crest. "It is that crest of which you found drawings in my bag." "Yes, I recognize the three beehives," he replied. Leaning back in his chair he reached over and took up a heavy volume from a smoking stand where he had flung it earlier that day. "I borrowed this book on heraldry from the Congressional Library," he explained, and turned the leaves with lightning rapidity until he found the page he wished. "See, the three beehives," pointing to a fine colored engraving, "and the proud motto of the Paltoffs of Russia--'Always without Fear.'" Miriam stared at the printed page and then at Trenholm, and respect and admiration were in her glance. "That was clever of you," she exclaimed. "So you guess--" "Much," quietly, "except your connection with the Paltoffs."