She slackened her pressure, little by anxious little. Her hand crept down to the knob, then she jerked it sharply and stood back and Mr. Piper came stumbling into the room, a little too fast for dignity. He had to catch to her to save himself from falling but as soon as he had recovered his balance he jerked his hands away from her as if they had taken hold of something that hurt him and when he stood up she saw that his face was grey all over and that his breath came in little hard sniffs through his nose. “Sorry, Sargent,” she said easily. “I heard your key but that silly old door is sticking again. You didn't hurt yourself, did you?” For an instant she thought that everything was going to be perfectly simple--his face had changed so, with an intensity of relief almost childish, at the sound of her accustomed voice. Then the greyness came back. “Do you mind--introducing me--Rose--to the gentleman--you are dining with tonight?” he said with a difficulty of speech as if actual words were not things he was accustomed to using. “I merely--called--to be quite sure.” She managed to look as puzzled as possible. “The gentleman?” “Oh yes, the gentleman.” He seemed neither to be particularly disgusted nor murderously angry--only so utterly tired in body and spirit that she thought oddly that it seemed almost as if any sudden gesture or movement might crumble him into pieces of fine grey paper at her feet. “Oh, there isn't any use in pretending, Rose--any more. I have my information.” “Yes? From whom?” “What on earth does it matter? Elizabeth--since you choose to know.” “Elizabeth,” said Mrs. Severance softly. She could not imagine how time, even when successfully played for and gained, could help the situation very much--but that was the only thing she could think of doing, and she did it, therefore, with every trick of deliberation she knew, as if any instant saved before he went into the dining-room might bring salvation. “Do you know, I was always a little doubtful about Elizabeth. She was a little too beautifully incurious about everything to be quite real--and a little too well satisfied with her place, even on what we paid her. But of course is she has been supplementing her salary with private-detective work for you--” She shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose you were foolish enough to give her one of your private numbers,” she said a trifle acidly. “Which will mean that you will be paying her a modest blackmail all the rest of your life, and you'll probably have to provide for her in your will. Oh, I know Elizabeth! She'll be perfectly secret--if she's paid for it--she'll never make you willing to risk the scandal by asking for more than just enough. But if this is the way you carry on all your confidential investigations, Sargent--well, it's fortunate you have large means--” “She doesn't know who I am.”