But Mr. Pyecroft was already crossing toward Matilda, smiling affectionately.

“My dear Matilda!” He kissed her upon the cheek.  “I arrived in New York very unexpectedly less than half an hour ago, and could not delay coming to see you.  How are you, sister?”

“Wha—­what?” stammered Matilda.

Mr. Pyecroft with his bland affectionate smile crossed to Mrs. De Peyster, slipped an arm across her shoulders and kissed her veil somewhere about the forehead.  “And how are you, dear sister?” he inquired with deep concern.

Mrs. De Peyster gasped and stiffened.

“You ladies don’t seem very glad to see him,” put in the officer.  “When we told him about you two bein’ sisters, he said he was your brother.  Is he?”

“Of course I am,” Mr. Pyecroft answered pleasantly.  “They weren’t expecting me; therefore this very natural surprise which you observe.  Of course, I am your brother, am I not?”—­patting Mrs. De Peyster’s arm with the appearance of affection, and then closing on it warningly.

Mrs. De Peyster nodded her head.

“Matilda,” turning to her, in frank fraternal fashion, “you might tell these officers that I am not only your brother, but in fact the only brother you have.  That is true, isn’t it, sister?”

“Yes,” gulped Matilda.

“Well,” said the officer, “since everything is all right, we’ll be leavin’ you.  But, believe me, this is certainly some sudden family reunion.”

When they had gone Mr. Pyecroft calmly removed cap and overcoat and stood forth in his clericals.  Again he wore the youngish face of their interview of an hour before.  Mrs. De Peyster watched him in sickening fear.  What was he going to do?  Surely he must now know her identity!

He smiled at them amiably.

“Well, my dears, so you tried to give me the slip.  I rather thought you’d bear watching, so I followed you.  And when I saw the officers come out without you I knew you had successfully entertained them with some sort of plausible explanation.”

His gaze fixed on Matilda.  “So, my dear sister, you’re really the housekeeper here.”  He shook his head chidingly.  “And the usual crook of a housekeeper, eh—­trying to make a safe clean-up while her mistress is away.  You’re deeper than I thought, Matilda.  I understand the whole affair now.  You and our sister Angelica had already been planning some kind of a game similar to the one I suggested.  I just happened to think of the same thing.  I don’t blame you a lot for not wanting to take me into the game; it was quite natural for you to want all there is in it for yourselves.  Not the least hard feeling in the world, my dears.  But, of course,”—­apologetically,—­“you could hardly expect me to give up a rich thing like this, could you?”

His easy, familiar, ironic talk had brought Mrs. De Peyster one large item of relief.  Evidently he didn’t suspect who she was—­yet.