“I knew you’d see it that way.  Now listen and git this carefully:  You’re to wear a big ulster and old hat and soft-soled shoes—­don’t forget that.  You’re to come to the back door at a quarter to nine—­exactly.  Us servants receive our callers at the back door.  Norcross will be in the parlor at half past, Annette will be in her room, the other help will be out, Ellen and all.  Mrs. Markham takes no chances—­not even with that fool girl—­when she’s got Norcross.  She’s given Ellen theater tickets.  That’s how careful she is about little things.  You can see how clear the coast will be.  I’m goin’ to bring you straight to my room like a visitor.  You walk soft!”

“But how about that electric bell?” he asked.

“I disconnected it this morning at the trap with my manicure scissors an’ a hairpin,” replied Rosalie, triumphantly.

So, at sixteen minutes to nine, Dr. Blake, feeling a cross between a detective and a burglar, stole through the alley which backed the Markham residence, crossed the area, knocked softly at the kitchen door.  It opened cautiously and then suddenly to show the kitchen, lighted with one dim lamp, and the ample form of Rosalie.  With a finger on her lips, she closed the door behind him.  His heart beat fast, less with a sense of impending adventure than with the thought, which struck him as he mounted the servants’ staircase, that he was divided but by thin walls from the object of all these strivings and diplomacies—­that for the second time in his life he was under her home roof with Annette.  It was a firm, old house.  Their footsteps made not the slightest creak on the thick-carpeted stairs.  At the door of her room, Rosalie stopped and put her mouth to his ear.

“Step careful inside,” she said, “my floor is bare.”  He stood now in the neat, low-ceiled housekeeper’s parlor.  Rosalie turned up the gas, and indicated by a gesture that he was to stand still.  Elaborately, she closed the registers, plugged the keyhole with her key, and set two chairs beside him.

“Now sit down,” she whispered.  “They can’t hear us talkin’, though we’d better whisper for safety, but two sets of footsteps might sound suspicious.  The halls are carpeted like a padded cell, which ought to have put me wise in the beginning.”

“Are you sure Annette’s abed?” he asked anxiously.

Rosalie threw him a swift glance, as of suspicion.

“Sure,” she said—­“saw her go.  Now before I let you out, I want to git one promise from you.  Whatever happens, you leave this house quiet,—­as quiet as you can.  You’ve got me to guard in this as well as yourself—­you can’t leave me alone with trouble.”

“I’ll promise that,” he said.  “Won’t you tell me what I’m going to see?”

Rosalie, under pretense of consulting her watch, looked away.