first, grinding agony and the formidably looming future. But it was not to last—events were shaping to an end that he had never suspected and that came upon him like a bolt from the blue. 

 It happened one afternoon eight days after the robbery. Mrs. Janney and Suzanne had gone for a drive and he was alone in the library, listlessly going over the morning papers. His zest in the news had left him—the Chicago murder offered no interest, the stabbed policeman in desperate case from blood poisoning, his assailant still at large, could not conjure away his dark anxieties. With his glasses dangling from his finger, his eyes on the green sweep of the lawn, he was roused by a knock on the door. It was Dixon announcing Mr. Kissam, who had walked up from the village and wanted to see him. 

 Kissam, with a brief phrase of greeting, closed the door and sat down. Mr. Janney thought his manner, which was always hard and brusque, was softened by a suggestion of confidence, something of intimacy as one who speaks man to man. It made him nervous and his uneasiness was not relieved in the least by the detective's words. 

 "I'm glad to find you alone, Mr. Janney. I 'phoned up and heard from Dixon that the ladies were out and that's why I came. I want to consult you before I say anything to Mrs. Janney." 

 "That's quite right," said Mr. Janney, then added with a feeble attempt at lightness, "Are you, as the children say, getting any warmer?" 

 "We're very warm. In fact I think we've almost got there. But it's rather a ticklish situation." 

 Mr. Janney did not answer; he glanced at his shoes, then at the silver on the desk. For the moment he was too perturbed to look at Kissam's shrewd, attentive face. 

 "It's so out of the ordinary run," the man went on, "and so much is involved that I decided not to move without first telling you. The family being so prominent—" 

 "The family!" Mr. Janney spoke before he thought, his limp hands suddenly clenching on the arms of the chair. 

 The detective's eyes steadied on the gripped fingers. 

 "What do you mean? Let me have it straight," said the old man huskily. 

 Kissam put his hand in his hip pocket and drew out an electric torch which he put on the desk. 

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