She then slapped a cup custard down in front of me and went away, leaving me very nervous.  Did she know of the Theif, or was she merely refering to the car, which she might have guest from grease on my clothes, which would get there in spite of being carful, especialy when changing a tire?

Well, I have now come to the horrable events of that night, at writing which my pen almost refuses.  To have dreamed and hoped for a certain thing, and then by my own actions to frustrate it was to be my fate.

“Oh God! that one might read the book of fate!” Shakspeare.

As I felt that, when everything was over, the people would come in from the Club and the other country places to see the captured Crimenal, I put on one of the frocks which mother had ordered and charged to me on that Allowence which was by that time non EST. (Latin for dissapated.  I use dissapated in the sense of spent, and not debauchery.) By that time it was nine o’clock, and Tom had not come, nor even telephoned.  But I felt this way.  If he was going to be jealous it was better to know it now, rather than when to late and perhaps a number of offspring.

I sat on the Terrace and waited, knowing full well that it was to soon, but nervous anyhow.  I had before that locked all the library windows but the one with the X on the sketch, also putting a nail at the top so he could not open them and escape.  And I had the key of the library door and my trusty weapon under a cushion, loaded—­the weapon, of course, not the key.

I then sat down to my lonely Vigil.

At eleven P. M. I saw a sureptitious Figure coming across the lawn, and was for a moment alarmed, as he might be coming while the Familey and the jewels, and so on, were still at the Club.

But it was only Carter Brooks, who said he had invited himself to stay all night, and the Club was sickning, as all the old people were playing cards and the young ones were paired and he was an odd man.

He then sat down on the cushion with the revolver under it, and said: 

“Gee whiz!  Am I on the Cat?  Because if so it is dead.  It moves not.”

“It might be a Revolver,” I said, in a calm voice.  “There was one lying around somwhere.”

So he got up and observed:  “I have conscientous scruples against sitting on a poor, unprotected gun, Bab.”  He then picked it up and it went off, but did no harm except to put a hole in his hat which was on the floor.

“Now see here, Bab,” he observed, looking angry, because it was a new one—­the hat.  “I know you, and I strongly suspect you put that Gun there.  And no blue eyes and white frock will make me think otherwise.  And if so, why?”

“I am alone a good deal, Carter,” I said, in a wistfull manner, “as my natural protecters are usualy enjoying the flesh pots of Egypt.  So it is natural that I should wish to be at least fortified against trouble.”

He then put the revolver in his pocket, and remarked that he was all the protecter I needed, and that the flesh pots only seemed desirable because I was not yet out.  But that once out I would find them full of indigestion, headaches, and heartburn.