“Yes, I could be ready to-night; but what shall we say to Tante Lydia?”

“Half the truth,” he answered.  “I’ll take the responsibility.  I’ll tell her I’ve been informed by my private people that an anonymous person has been threatening you; that they are trying to locate him; and that as he is known to be dangerous, I’ve advised your leaving at once and quietly.  I’ll tell her a few of my experiences in that line, that will make her believe that ‘discretion is the better part of valor.’” He laughed bitterly.  “The kind attentions I’ve had in the way of infernal machines and threats by telephone and letter.  And I see only a few, you know.  What my secretaries stop and the police get on to besides would exhaust one.  It’s the penalty of the limelight, my dear.  But don’t take this too seriously.  I’ll have everything in hand in a day or two.  Now I’m off to put your mother’s valuables in a place of safety.  Let’s stow those jewel cases in a handbag.  Can you lend me one?” She left the room and returned presently with a traveling case, into which Gard tossed the elaborate boxes without ceremony.  “I’ve been thinking,” he said presently, “that my sister’s place in Westchester is open.  She goes down often for week ends.  There’s a train at eight that will get you in by nine-thirty, and I can telephone instructions to meet you and have everything ready.  If you motored down, you see, the chauffeur would know and you must be quite incognito.  It’ll be dead quiet, my dear, but you need a rest, and we can keep in touch with one another so easily.”

Dorothy leaned forward and gazed at him with burning eyes.  “You are so good,” she murmured.  “Of course I’ll go.  I know mother would want me to—­don’t you think so?”

He smiled grimly.  “I’m certain she would.  Now here are your directions; I’ll attend to all the rest.  All you have to do is pack.  I’ll send for you.”  He wrote for a moment, handed Dorothy the slip and began a note of explanation for Mrs. Mellows.  “There,” he said, as he handed over the missive for Dorothy’s approval, “that covers the case.  And now, my dear, the rest is my affair, and whoever he is—­may God have mercy on his soul!”

* * * * *

VIII

Early on the morning following Dorothy’s hurried departure, Marcus Gard, having dismissed his valet, was finishing his dressing in the presence of Brencherly.

“I tried to get you last night,” he rasped; “anyhow, you’re here.  What have you to report to me?”

Brencherly shook his head.  “As far as I can learn, sir, there’s nobody slipped in the Marteen place, sir.  All the information about the safe they have they got from the manufacturers and the people who installed it—­only a short time ago.”