"Lizzie--you know that stair rail's just been varnished. Miss
Dale got a stain on her sleeve there this afternoon--and Lizzie--"

"Yes'm?"

"No one is to know that he is a detective. Not even Billy." Miss
Cornelia was very firm.

"Well, what'll I say he is?"

"It's nobody's business."

"A detective," moaned Lizzie, opening the hall door to go by the
main staircase. "Tiptoeing around with his eye to all the keyholes.
A body won't be safe in the bathtub." She shut the door with a
little slap and disappeared. Miss Cornelia sat down--she had many
things to think over--"if I ever get time really to think of
anything again," she thought, because with gardeners coming who
aren't gardeners--and Lizzie hearing yells in the grounds and--

She started slightly. The front door bell was ringing--a long
trill, uncannily loud in the quiet house. She sat rigid in her
chair, waiting. Billy came in.

"Front door key, please?" he asked urbanely. She gave him the key.

"Find out who it is before you unlock the door," she said. He
nodded. She heard him at the door, then a murmur of voices--Dale's
voice and another's--"Won't you come in for a few minutes? Oh,