to-morrow won't do."

The sergeant took the card, looked at it, and looked at me.

"Wait a minute," he said, at last, and disappeared through a door at
the farther side of the room. He was gone three or four minutes, and
the station-clock struck twelve as I stood there. I counted the
sonorous, deliberate strokes, and then, in the silence that followed,
my hands began to tremble with the suspense. Suppose Grady should
refuse to see me? But at last the sergeant came back.

"Come along," he said, opening the gate in the railing and motioning
me through. "Straight on through that door," he added, and sat down
again at his desk.

With a desperate effort at careless unconcern, I opened the door and
passed through. Then, involuntarily, I stopped. For there, in the
middle of the floor, was the Boule cabinet, with M. Pigot standing
beside it, and Grady and Simmonds sitting opposite, flung carelessly
back in their chairs, and puffing at black cigars.

They all looked at me as I entered, Pigot with an evident contraction
of the brows which showed how strongly his urbanity was strained;
Simmonds with an affectation of surprise, and Grady with a bland and
somewhat vacant smile. My heart rose when I saw that smile.

"Well, Mr. Lester," he said, "so you want to see this cabinet?"

"Yes," I answered; "it really belongs to the Vantine estate, you
know; I'm going to put in a claim for it--that is, if you are not