She had scant choice other than to obey. Desperate as she was, her strength
had been severely overtaxed, and she might not presume upon it too greatly.
Fascinated with terror, she let herself down into an easy chair.

Anisty thought for a moment, then went over to the desk and sat himself
before it.

"Keys," he commented, rapidly inventorying what he saw. "How'd you get hold
of them?"

"They are Mr. Maitland's. He must have forgotten them."

The burglar chuckled grimly. "Coincidences multiply. It is odd. That harp,
O'Hagan, was coming in with a can of beer while I was picking the lock, and
caught me. He wanted to know if I'd missed my train for Greenfields, and I
gave him my word of honor I had. Moreover, I'd mislaid my keys and had been
ringing for him for the past ten minutes. He swallowed every word of it....
By the way, here's a glove of yours. You certainly managed to leave enough
clues about to insure your being nabbed even by a New York detective."

He faced about, tossing her the glove, and with it so keen and penetrating
a glance that her heart sank for fear that he had guessed her secret. But
as he continued she regained confidence.

"I could teach you a thing or two," he suggested pleasantly. "You make
about as many mistakes as the average beginner. And, on the other hand,
you've got the majority beaten to a finish for 'cuteness. You're as quick
as they make them."

She straightened up, uneasy, oppressed by a vague surmise as to whither