“Yes, I suppose I had better,” repeated Dr. Spidderkins. “She’d get in, anyhow,” he added. “Oh, but she _is_ a woman. There’s no use talking, she certainly is a Tartar. I--I don’t know when I ever met, or heard of, or read of, in all ancient history, for example, one to equal her. Lady Macbeth, perhaps. You recall Lady Macbeth, I presume?” “Are you going to let me in, Dr. Spidderkins, or shall I have to go and get my duplicate keys, and open the door myself?” interrupted the harsh voice of the housekeeper. “Did you hear that?” whispered the doctor. “Duplicate keys! I knew she must have some way of getting into this room. Once I found a copy of Dante, which I prized very highly, laid upside down on my table, and I’m almost certain that I left it right side up. But then my wretched memory----” A rattling of the knob reminded him that the housekeeper was still waiting. “Then you really think I’d better let her in?” again whispered the doctor to Tom. The telephone boy nodded. “Very well, I will, but say nothing to her about what you told me.” “I’ll not,” replied Tom. The doctor unlocked the door. Mrs. Sandow, who had, just as the doctor suspected she would, made her way to the library, was seen standing in a belligerent attitude in that apartment. “Well, it’s taken you long enough to open the door,” she snapped. “Yes, we--we were very busy,” said Dr. Spidderkins. “I’d like to know what that good-for-nothing boy is doing here all the while?” went on the angry woman. As no one offered to enlighten her she glared at Tom. “Did--er--did you want to speak to me?” asked the physician, and Tom waited anxiously for the answer. He thought it might have something to do with the matter in hand. “Of course I want to speak to you,” said Mrs. Sandow. “Do you think I’d come all the way here from my kitchen, and waste my time knocking at locked doors, though for the life of me I can’t see why you should lock you door, for I’m sure I don’t want to take any of your old books, no matter what others may wish, but then of course----” Here Mrs. Sandow appeared to forget what she had started out to say, but she switched off on another tack and asked: “Do you remember me telling you that the water pipes in the kitchen would need fixing?” “I--er--I seem to remember----” began the doctor. “No, you don’t remember, and that’s just the trouble. You don’t remember anything. You’d forget to eat if I didn’t call you.” “Oh, now I remember!” cried the doctor. “It was about the furnace. You said we’d need a new grate. I knew I would remember that, because I associated it in my mind with a book about Alexander the Great, and----” “No, no! Nothing of the sort,” interrupted Mrs. Sandow. “That was last year when the grate broke, and you had to get a new one. This is about the water pipes in the kitchen. What I came to tell you was that one had burst, the water is spouting all over the room, and we need a plumber right away!”