Nobody answered him. More time elapsed; and then Albertson, springing up, walked with a firm step to the door and turned the handle. It was locked. Albertson shook back a long gray lock from his forehead. "What do you make of that?" he said. Miss Wellington laughed. "Mrs. Conway has the right explanation, I think," she said. "She's done the trick with Mr. Wood too." "Not at all," said Edna. "How can you be so low, Cora? I only said that to make Anthony angry. He's finding out--luring her to tell him everything." "Kidding her along, you mean?" said Mr. Albertson, who hated people not to use the right word. "They've probably both got out of the back window by this time," said Miss Wellington. This time Mr. Albertson frankly leaned his ear against the crack of the door. "No, they're there yet," he said, moving away again. "I can hear them talking--low." Another silence succeeded to this information, and then Mrs. Conway's butler appeared in the doorway. He looked about and said over his shoulder, "Yes, sir, she's here." He drew back and ushered in Gordon Conway. Edna looked at the man who had been her husband and said irritably, "You, Gordon; This is really a little too much!" "Hullo, father," said Durland. "Hullo, Durlie," said his father, as if he were trying to be cordial; and then, seeing Albertson, he added in a tone really cordial, "Why, Albertson, how do you do? I haven't seen you since the night what's his name--who had that crooked wheel in Hester Street--was pulled. Off the force?" The two men shook hands. "Gordon," said Edna, again determined to know the worst, "what do you want?" "Why, oddly enough--nothing at all," replied Mr. Conway. He did not give the same impression of furtiveness and wasted pallor that Pearl had gained when she had caught a glimpse of him on the steps. No one could say he had a color, but he was distinctly less corpselike. There was nothing shabby about him now either. He was very well dressed in a dark morning suit; his boots, his tie, the wrist watch which he kept glancing at as if his time was rather short, were all of the most elegant sort. "No, my dear," he went on, "you ought to welcome me most cordially, for I have come to make you a present--quite a present." And fishing languidly in his pocket he produced the string of pearls. "A present!" cried Edna. "Those are my pearls!" "They are now," said her husband politely, "because I have made up my mind to give them to you." "You gave them to me originally--they were always mine." Conway shook his head a number of times. "So you have always said, Edna; but saying a thing over and over again does not make it any truer. I did not give them to you----" "You did," said Edna.