If she had resented Kennedy, she positively flew up in the air and commenced to aviate at Maloney’s questioning.  Tossing her head, she said icily:  “I do not know that you have been appointed my guardian, sir.  Let us consider this interview at an end.  Good-night,” and with that she swept out of the room, ignoring Maloney and bestowing one biting glance on Blake, who actually winced, so little relish did he have for this ticklish part of the proceedings.

I think we all felt like schoolboys who had been detected robbing a melon-patch or in some other heinous offence, as we slowly filed down the hall to the elevator.  A woman of Mrs. Branford’s stamp so readily and successfully puts one in the wrong that I could easily comprehend why Blake wanted to call on Kennedy for help in what otherwise seemed a plain case.

Blake and Maloney were some distance ahead of us, as Craig leaned over to me and whispered.  “That Maloney is impossible.  I’ll have to shake him loose in some way.  Either we handle this case alone or we quit.”

“Right-o,” I agreed emphatically.  “He’s put his foot in it badly at the very start.  Only, be decent about it, Craig.  The case is too big for you to let it slip by.”

“Trust me, Walter.  I’ll do it tactfully,” he whispered, then to Blake he added as we overtook them:  “Maloney is right.  The case is simple enough, after all.  But we must find out some way to fasten the thing more closely on Mrs. Branford.  Let me think out a scheme to-night.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As Blake and Maloney disappeared down the street in the car, Kennedy wheeled about and walked deliberately back into the Grattan Inn again.  It was quite late.  People were coming in from the theatres, laughing and chatting gaily.  Kennedy selected a table that commanded a view of the parlour as well as of the dining-room itself.

“She was dressed to receive some one—­did you notice?” he remarked as we sat down and cast our eyes over the dizzy array of inedibles on the card before us.  “I think it is worth waiting a while to see who it is.”

Having ordered what I did not want, I glanced about until my eye rested on a large pier-glass at the other end of the dining-room.

“Craig,” I whispered excitedly, “Mrs. B. is in the writing-room—­I can see her in that glass at the end of the room, behind you.”

“Get up and change places with me as quietly as you can, Walter,” he said quickly.  “I want to see her when she can’t see me.”

Kennedy was staring in rapt attention at the mirror.  “There’s a man with her, Walter,” he said under his breath.  “He came in while we were changing places—­a fine-looking chap.  By Jove, I’ve seen him before somewhere.  His face and his manner are familiar to me.  But I simply can’t place him.  Did you see her wraps in the chair?  No?  Well, he’s helping her on with them.  They’re going out.  Garcon, L’ADDITION—­VITE”