“Have you another volume of Mr. Fielding?” asked Tom. “I have, yes; but it is only a cheap reprint, and I never would put valuable papers in or under that. No, I am sure the papers were here, but they are gone. What had I better do?” At that moment there came a knock on the door of the inner room, which the physician had taken the precaution to lock. “Hark!” exclaimed Dr. Spidderkins. “I thought I heard some one knocking.” “There was,” answered Tom. The knock was repeated, louder than before, and a voice which Tom recognized as that of the mean housekeeper said: “Come, come! I can’t stand here all day. I’ve got my work to do. Open the door, now, Dr. Spidderkins. I know you’re in there, with that boy. Boys can’t be trusted, that’s been my experience with ’em. You’d better open the door. I’m sure his feet are muddy and I can’t have my carpets all tracked up. Come, are you going to open that door, or not?” “Isn’t--isn’t that some one speaking?” asked the aged physician, gently, as if there was the slightest doubt of it. Mrs. Sandow’s harsh voice could have been heard through the whole house. “I--I think it’s the housekeeper,” said Tom. “Of course; to be sure,” replied the doctor, in a tone of relief, as if a great uncertainty had been lifted from his mind. “It must be my housekeeper. I thought I recognized the voice, but I couldn’t quite place it. I am afraid--I’m very much afraid--that my memory is going back on me.” Tom hadn’t the slightest doubt of it. “Well, are you going to let me in?” demanded Mrs. Sandow again. “I’d like to know what you mean, Lemuel, by locking the doors on me. I just want to know what you’re up to! The idea of locking doors when I’m around. Come! Are you going to let me in?” “Do you think I’d better?” inquired the doctor, of Tom. “She--she’s a Tartar, you know.” “Perhaps you had better see what she wants,” suggested the telephone boy. “That’s an excellent suggestion. I will act upon it.” The doctor tiptoed to the door, and, placing his lips close against a panel, whispered as loudly as he could: “What do you want?” “What do I want?” repeated Mrs. Sandow. “I want to come in, that’s what I want. I have something to say to you. It’s important. Let me in at once.” “You’ll have to wait a moment,” went on the physician. “Wait? What for, I should like to know? Haven’t I been waiting here, and knocking until I’ve almost worn the skin off my knuckles? Why should I wait any longer?” But the doctor did not reply. Instead he tiptoed over to where Tom stood, a curious spectator and listener to what was going on. “Shall I--shall I let her in?” asked the aged physician of the boy. Tom could not help smiling. This seemed a matter for the doctor alone to settle. Yet he asked advice upon it. “I suppose you had better,” he replied.