were concerned, having been locked in the furnace room the night they were stolen.  There was no one among the girls to suspect.  The Mercer girls had stunning pearls, and could secure all they wanted legitimately; and Bella disliked them.  Oh, there was no question about it, I decided; Dallas and Anne had taken a wolf to their bosom—­or is it a viper?—­and the Harbison man was the creature.  Although I must say that, looking over the table, at Jimmy’s breadth and not very imposing personality, at Max’s lean length, sallow skin, and bold dark eyes, at Dallas, blond, growing bald and florid, and then at the Harbison boy, tall, muscular, clear-eyed and sunburned, one would have taken Max at first choice as the villain, with Dal next, Jim third, and the Harbison boy not in the running.

It was just after dinner that the surprise was sprung on me.  Mr. Harbison came around to me gravely, and asked me if I felt able to go up on the roof.  On the roof, after last night!  I had to gather myself together; luckily, the others were pushing back their chairs, showing Flannigan the liqueur glasses to take up, and lighting cigars.

“I do not care to go,” I said icily.

“The others are coming,” he persisted, “and I—­I could give you an arm up the stairs.”

“I believe you are good at that,” I said, looking at him steadily.  “Max, will you help me to the roof?”

Mr. Harbison really turned rather white.  Then he bowed ceremoniously and left me.

Max got me a wrap, and every one except Mr. Harbison and Bella, who was taking a mass of indigestables to Aunt Selina, went to the roof.

“Where is Tom?” Anne asked, as we reached the foot of the stairs.  “Gone ahead to fix things,” was the answer.  But he was not there.  At the top of the last flight I stopped, dumb with amazement; the roof had been transformed, enchanted.  It was a fairy-land of lights and foliage and colors.  I had to stop and rub my eyes.  From the bleakness of a tin roof in February to the brightness and greenery of a July roof garden!

“You were the immediate inspiration, Kit,” Dallas said.  “Harbison thought your headache might come from lack of exercise and fresh air, and he has worked us like nailers all day.  I’ve a blister on my right palm, and Harbison got shocked while he was wiring the place, and nearly fell over the parapet.  We bought out two full-sized florists by telephone.”

It was the most amazing transformation.  At each corner a pole had been erected, and wires crossed the roof diagonally, hung with red and amber bulbs.  Around the chimneys had been massed evergreen trees in tubs, hiding their brick-and-mortar ugliness, and among the trees tiny lights were strung.  Along the parapet were rows of geometrical boxwood plants in bright red crocks, and the flaps of a crimson and white tent had been thrown open, showing lights within, and rugs, wicker chairs, and cushions.

Max raised a glass of benedictine and posed for a moment, melodramatically.