Denby nodded acquiescence and quietly withdrew to the centre of the room. “Has she heard us?” asked his friend. “I don’t think so. I heard her close the window and then come over to the door.” He crossed to the desk and began to write very fast. “What are you doing?” Monty inquired softly. Denby, scribbling on, did not immediately answer him. Presently he handed the written page to Monty. “Here’s my plan,” he said, “read it.” While Monty was studying the paper Denby moved over to the light switch, and the room, except for the rose-shaded electric lamp, was in darkness. “Jumping Jupiter!” Monty exclaimed, looking up from the paper with knit brows. “Do you understand?” Denby asked. “Yes,” Monty answered agitatedly; “I understand, but suppose I get rattled and make a mistake when the time comes?” “You won’t,” Denby replied, still in low tone. “I’m depending on you, Monty, and I know you won’t disappoint me.” When he next spoke it was in a louder voice, louder in fact than he needed for conversational use. “It’s a pity Miss Cartwright has gone to bed,” he exclaimed. “I might have risked trying to learn bridge, if she’d been willing to teach me. She’s a bully girl.” “Don’t talk so loud,” Monty advised him, grinning. “In these dictagraph days the walls have ears. Let’s go outside. We can’t tell who might hear us in this room. We’ll be safe enough on the lawn.” “A good idea,” Denby agreed, moving away from the connecting door which they guessed had a listener concealed behind it, and turning out the lights. And Ethel Cartwright, straining her ears, heard the door opened and banged noisily, and footsteps hurrying past toward the stairway. It was at last the opportunity. CHAPTER THIRTEEN SHE turned the key, less noisily this time, and stepped into Denby’s room. Making her way to the drawer she gave it a gentle pull. But it was still fastened, and she grasped the heavy brass knife when of a sudden the room was full of light, and Denby stepped from the shadow of the door where he had been concealed. “Oh!” she cried in terror, and turned her face away from him. He walked slowly over to the table by which she stood. “So you’ve come for the necklace, then? Why do you want it?” She looked at him in desperation. Only the truth would serve her now. “I am employed by the government. I was sent here to get it,” she answered. “What?” he cried. “The charming Miss Cartwright a secret service agent! It’s quite incredible.” “But it’s true,” she said. “Who employed you?” he asked sharply. “I can’t tell you that,” she said slowly. “Then how can I believe you?” he asked her. “But it’s the truth,” she insisted. “For what other reason should I be here?” “Women have collected jewels before now for themselves as well as their governments,” he reminded her. She flushed. “Do you wish to insult me?”