“Bock!” said Titania sharply, “what are you doing?”

Aubrey was wondering miserably whether he ought to counterfeit a bark, but it was too late to do anything.  The pantry door opened, and Titania looked in.

They gazed at each other for several seconds in mutual horror.  Even in his abasement, crouching under a shelf in the corner, Aubrey’s stricken senses told him that he had never seen so fair a spectacle.  Titania wore a blue kimono and a curious fragile lacy bonnet which he did not understand.  Her dark, gold-spangled hair came down in two thick braids across her shoulders.  Her blue eyes were very much alive with amazement and alarm which rapidly changed into anger.

“Mr. Gilbert!” she cried.  For an instant he thought she was going to laugh.  Then a new expression came into her face.  Without another word she turned and fled.  He heard her run upstairs.  A door banged, and was locked.  A window was hastily closed.  Again all was silent.

Stupefied with chagrin, he rose from his cramped position.  What on earth was he to do?  How could he explain?  He stood by the pantry sink in painful indecision.  Should he slink out of the house?  No, he couldn’t do that without attempting to explain.  And he was still convinced that some strange peril hung about this place.  He must put Titania on her guard, no matter how embarrassing it proved.  If only she hadn’t been wearing a kimono—­how much easier it would have been.

He stepped out into the hall, and stood at the bottom of the stairs in the throes of doubt.  After waiting some time in silence he cleared the huskiness from his throat and called out: 

“Miss Chapman!”

There was no answer, but he heard light, rapid movements above.

“Miss Chapman!” he called again.

He heard the door opened, and clear words edged with frost came downward.  This time he thought of a thin tumbler with ice in it.

“Mr. Gilbert!”

“Yes?” he said miserably.

“Will you please call me a taxi?”

Something in the calm, mandatory tone nettled him.  After all, he had acted in pure good faith.

“With pleasure,” he said, “but not until I have told you something.  It’s very important.  I beg your pardon most awfully for frightening you, but it’s really very urgent.”

There was a brief silence.  Then she said: 

“Brooklyn’s a queer place.  Wait a few minutes, please.”

Aubrey stood absently fingering the pattern on the wallpaper.  He suddenly experienced a great craving for a pipe, but felt that the etiquette of the situation hardly permitted him to smoke.