” “If he has a key,” Ennison said, “how are you to be safe?” “I had bolts fitted on the doors yesterday,” she answered. Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies. There was no light in the room; but, notwithstanding this, the young man did not fail to detect the buxom figure of Mrs. The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. I don’t suggest any philanthropy.
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