'She won't understand,' he whispered, looking at me enquiringly. 'No, she
won't. _Will_ she?'

Then there was a pause, during which he brought forth from his breast
pocket a small bunch of some half-dozen keys, on one of which he looked
frowningly, every now and then balancing it a little before his eyes,
between his finger and thumb, as he deliberated.

I knew him too well, of course, to interpose a word.

'They are easily frightened--ay, they are. I'd better do it another way.'

And pausing, he looked in my face as he might upon a picture.

'They _are_--yes--I had better do it another way--another way; yes--and
she'll not suspect--she'll not suppose.'

Then he looked steadfastly upon the key, and from it to me, suddenly
lifting it up, and said abruptly, 'See, child,' and, after a second or two,
'_Remember_ this key.'

It was oddly shaped, and unlike others.

'Yes, sir.' I always called him 'sir.'

'It opens that,' and he tapped it sharply on the door of the cabinet. 'In
the daytime it is always here,' at which word he dropped it into his pocket
again. 'You see?--and at night under my pillow--you hear me?'