room as he went, until he came to a short flight of stairs leading
toward the kitchen. He went on down silently. The lights were burning,
but the place was still, deserted. All the servants who belonged there
were evidently, for the moment, transferred to other posts. He passed on
through the kitchen and out the back door into the street.

A little distance away, leaning against a lamp-post, a man was
standing. He might have been waiting for a car. Mr. Grimm approached
him.

"Beg pardon," he said, "did you see a woman come out of the back door,
there?"

"Yes, just a moment or so ago," replied the stranger. "She got into an
automobile at the corner. I imagine this is hers," and he extended a
handkerchief, a dainty, perfumed trifle of lace. "I picked it up
immediately after she passed."

Mr. Grimm took the handkerchief and examined it under the light. For a
time he was thoughtful, with lowered eyes, which, finally raised, met
those of the stranger with a scrutinizing stare.

"Why," asked Mr. Grimm slowly and distinctly, "why did you slam the door
in the girl's face?"

"Why did I--what?" came the answering question.

"Why did you slam the door in the girl's face?" Mr. Grimm repeated
slowly.