The banister shook beneath R. Jones’ sudden clutch.  For a moment he felt almost faint.  Then he began to think swiftly.  A great light had dawned on him, and the thought outstanding in his mind was that never again would he trust a man or woman on the evidence of his senses.  He could have sworn that this Valentine girl was on the level.  He had been perfectly satisfied with her statement that she had destroyed the letters.  And all the while she had been playing as deep a game as he had come across in the whole course of his professional career!  He almost admired her.  How she had taken him in!

It was obvious now what her game was.  Previous to his visit she had arranged a meeting with Freddie’s fiancee, with the view of opening negotiations for the sale of the letters.  She had held him, Jones, at arm’s length because she was going to sell the letters to whoever would pay the best price.  But for the accident of his happening to be here when Miss Peters arrived, Freddie and his fiancee would have been bidding against each other and raising each other’s price.  He had worked the same game himself a dozen times, and he resented the entry of female competition into what he regarded as essentially a male field of enterprise.

As the maid stumped up the stairs he continued his retreat.  He heard Joan’s door open, and the stream of light showed him the disheveled maid standing in the doorway.

“Ow, I thought there was a gentleman with you, miss.”

“He left a moment ago.  Why?”

“There’s a lady wants to see you.  Miss Peters, her name is.”

“Will you ask her to come up?”

The disheveled maid was no polished mistress of ceremonies.  She leaned down into the void and hailed Aline.

“She says will you come up?”

Aline’s feet became audible on the staircase.  There were greetings.

“Whatever brings you here, Aline?”

“Am I interrupting you, Joan, dear?”

“No.  Do come in!  I was only surprised to see you so late.  I didn’t know you paid calls at this hour.  Is anything wrong?  Come in.”

The door closed, the maid retired to the depths, and R. Jones stole cautiously down again.  He was feeling absolutely bewildered.  Apparently his deductions, his second thoughts, had been all wrong, and Joan was, after all, the honest person he had imagined at first sight.  Those two girls had talked to each other as though they were old friends; as though they had known each other all their lives.  That was the thing which perplexed R. Jones.

With the tread of a red Indian, he approached the door and put his ear to it.  He found he could hear quite comfortably.

Aline, meantime, inside the room, had begun to draw comfort from Joan’s very appearance, she looked so capable.