“Hsh!” the other commanded softly, and then louder: “Come in.” The smiling face of Michael Harrington beamed upon them. In his hands he carried a tray whereon two generous highballs reposed. “Hello, boys,” he cried genially, “I’ve brought up those two nightcaps I promised you. Nothing like ’em after excitement such as we’ve had.” “You never looked so good to me, Michael,” Monty cried affectionately. “Now, Denby,” Michael said, handing him the glass in Lambart’s best manner. “Thanks, all the same,” his guest returned, “but I don’t think I will--not yet at any rate.” “Good!” Michael cried. “Luck’s with me.” He drained the glass with the deepest satisfaction. “Ah, that was needed. Now, Monty, after your exertions you won’t disappoint me?” “Not for me, either,” Monty exclaimed. “Splendid,” said the gratified Michael. “At your age I would have refused it absolutely.” He looked at the glass affectionately. “I’ll take the encore in a few minutes. Alice does cut me down so dreadfully. Just one light one before dinner--mostly Vermouth--and one drink afterward. I welcome any extra excitement like this.” “Aren’t you master in your own house?” Denby asked smiling. He had fathomed the secret of the happy relations of his host and hostess, and was not deceived by Harrington when he represented himself the sport of circumstances. “You bet I’m not,” said Michael, without resentment. “By the way,” he added, “if you want your nightcaps later, ring for Lambart. He’s used to being summoned at any hour.” “I won’t forget,” Denby returned. “I hope you won’t,” his host assured him. “I’d hate to think of Lambart having a really good night’s rest.” He pointed to an alarm on the wall by the door. “But don’t get up half asleep and push that red thing over there.” “What on earth is it?” Monty asked. “It looks like a hotel fire-alarm--‘Break the glass in case of fire.’” “It’s a burglar-alarm that wakes the whole house.” “What?” Denby cried, suddenly interested. “You don’t really expect burglars?” “I know it’s funny,” Michael said, “and a bit old maidish, but I happen to be vice-president of the New York Burglar Insurance Company, and I’ve got to have their beastly patents in the house to show my faith in ’em.” “I’ll keep away from it,” Denby assured him, looking at it curiously. “The last man who had this room sent it off by mistake. Said a mosquito worried him so much that he threw a shoe at it. He missed the mosquito--between you and me,” Michael said confidentially, “we haven’t any out here at Westbury--but he hit the alarm. I’m afraid Hazen had been putting too many nightcaps on his head and couldn’t see straight. Mrs. Harrington made me search the whole house. Of course there wasn’t anyone there and Alice seemed sorry that I’d had my hunt in vain. The beauty of these things,” the vice-president commented, “is that they warn the burglars to get out and so you don’t get shot as you might if you hadn’t told ’em you were coming.”