“No doubt,” she said coolly.  “What have you been packing into that valise?”

“P-packing into what?  Oh, into that suit case?  That is my suit case.”

“Of course it is,” she said quietly, “but what have you inside it?”

“Nothing you or your friends would care for,” he said meaningly.

“I must be the judge of that,” she retorted.  “Please open that suit case.”

“How can I if my hands are in the air?” he expostulated, now intensely interested in the novelty of being held up by this graceful and vaguely pretty silhouette.

“You may lower your arms to unpack the suit case,” she said.

“I—­I had rather not if you are going to keep me covered with your pistol.”

“Of course I shall keep you covered.  Unpack your booty at once!”

“My—­what?”

“Booty.”

“Madam, do you take me for a thief?  Have you, by chance, entered the wrong house?  I—­I cannot reconcile your voice with what I am forced to consider you—­a housebreaker—­”

“We will discuss that later.  Unpack that bag!” she insisted.

“But—­but there is nothing in it except samples of marble—­”

“What!” she exclaimed nervously. “What did you say?  Samples of marble?”

“Marble, madam!  Georgia marble!”

“Oh!  So you are the young man who goes about pretending to peddle Georgia marble from samples!  Are you?  The famous marble man I have heard of.”

“I?  Madam, I don’t know what you mean!”

“Come!” she said scornfully; “let me see the contents of that suit case.  I—­I am not afraid of you; I am not a bit afraid of you.  And I shall catch your accomplice, too.”

“Madam, you speak like an honest woman!  You must have managed to enter the wrong house.  This is number thirty-eight, where I live.”

“It is number thirty-six; my house!”

“But I know it is number thirty-eight; Mr. Lee’s house,” he protested hopefully.  “This is some dreadful mistake.”

“Mr. Lee’s house is next door,” she said.  “Do you not suppose I know my own house?  Besides, I have been warned against a plausible young man who pretends he has Georgia marble to sell—­”

“There is a dreadful mistake somewhere,” he insisted.  “Please p-p-put up your p-pistol and aid me to solve it.  I am no robber, madam.  I thought at first that you were.  I’m living in Mr. Lee’s house, No. 38 East Eighty-third Street, and I’ve looked carefully at the number over the door of this house and the number is thirty-eight, and the street is East Eighty-third.  So I naturally conclude that I am in Mr. Lee’s house.”

“Your arguments and your conclusions are very plausible,” she said, “but, fortunately for me, I have been expressly warned against a young man of your description. You are the marble man!”

“It’s a mistake!  A very dreadful one.”