There was no denyin', either, that this Roulaire party did have a pair of shifty eyes in her head. I'd noticed that much myself in the few times I'd seen her. They wa'n't any particular color you could name,--sort of a greeny gray-blue,--but they sure was bright and restless. You'd never hear a sound out of her, for she didn't let go of any remarks that wa'n't dragged from her; but somehow you felt, from the minute you got into the room until she'd made a gumshoe exit by the nearest door, that them sleuthy lamps never quite lost sight of you.

That and her smile was the main points about her. I've seen a lot of diff'rent kinds of smiles, meanin' and unmeanin'; but this chronic half-smirk of Madame Roulaire's was about the most unconvincin'

performance I've ever watched. Why, even a blind man could tell she didn't really mean it! Outside of that, she was just a plain, pie faced sort of female with shrinkin', apologizin' ways and a set of store teeth that didn't fit any too well; but she wa'n't one that you'd suspect of anything more tragic than eatin' maraschino cherries on the sly, or swappin' household gossip with the cook.

That wa'n't the way Martha had her sized up, though, and of course there was no keepin' her inquisitive nose out of the case. First thing anyone knew, she'd backed Madame Roulaire into a corner, put her through the third degree, and come trottin' back in triumph to Mrs. Pinckney.

"Didn't I tell you?" says she. "French! Bosh! Perhaps you haven't asked her about Auberge-sur-Mer, where she says she was born?"

Greraldine admits that she ain't done much pumpin'.

"Well, I have," says Aunt Martha, "and she couldn't tell me a thing about the place that was so. I spent ten days there only two years ago, and remember it perfectly. She isn't any more French than I am."

"Oh, what of it?" says Mrs. Pinckney. "She gets along splendidly with the twins. They think the world of her."

"But she's thoroughly deceitful," Aunt Martha comes back. "She misrepresents her age, lies about her birthplace, and--and she wears a transformation wig."

"Yes, I had noticed the brown wig," admits Mrs. Pinckney; "but they're quite common."

"So are women poisoners," snaps Martha. "Think of what happened to the Briggses, after they took in that strange maid! Then there was the Madame Catossi case, over in Florence last year. They were warned about her, you remember."

And maybe you know how a good lively suspecter can get results when she keeps followin' it up. They got to watchin' the governess close when she was around, and noticin' all the little slips in her talk and the crab-like motions she made in dodgin' strangers. That appears to make her worse than ever, too. She'd get fussed every time anyone looked her way, and just some little question about the children would make her jump and color up like she'd been accused of burnin' a barn. Even Sadie, who'd been standin' up for her right along, begins to weaken.

"After all," says she, "I'm not sure there isn't something queer about that woman."

"Ah, all governesses are queer, ain't they?" says I; "but that ain't any sign they've done time or are in the habit of dosin' the coffeepot with arsenic. It's Aunt Martha has stirred all this mess up, and she'd make the angel Gabriel prove who he was by blowin' bugle calls."

It was only next day, though, that we gets a report of what happens when Pinckney runs across this Sir Carpenter-Podmore at the club and lugs him out to dinner. He's an English gent Pinckney had known abroad. Comin' in unexpected that way, him and Madame Roulaire had met face to face in the hall, while the introductions was bein' passed out--and what does she do but turn putty colored and shake like she was havin' a fit!

"Ah, Truckles?" says Podmore, sort of cordial.

"No, no!" she gasps. "Roulaire! I am Madame Roulaire!"

"Beg pardon, I'm sure," says Sir Carpenter, liftin' his eyebrows and passin' on.

That was all there was to it; but everyone in the house heard about it.

Course Aunt Martha jumps right in with the question marks; but all she gets out of Podmore is that he presumes he was mistaken.

"Well, maybe he was," says I. "Why not?"

"Then you haven't heard," says Sadie, "that Sir Carpenter was for a long time a Judge on the criminal bench."

"Z-z-z-zing!" says I. "Looks kind of squally for the governess, don't it?"

If it hadn't been for Pinckney, too, Aunt Martha'd had her thrown out that night; but he wouldn't have it that way.

"I've never been murdered in my bed, or been fed on ground glass," says he, "and--who knows?--I might like the sensation."

Say, there's more sides to that Pinckney than there are to a cutglass paperweight. You might think, with him such a Reggie chap, that havin' a suspicious character like that around would get on his nerves; but, when it comes to applyin' the real color test, there ain't any more yellow in him than in a ball of bluin', and he can be as curious about certain things as a kid investigatin' the animal cages.

Rather than tie the can to Madame Roulaire without gettin' a straight line on her, he was willin' to run chances. And it don't make any difference to him how much Aunt Martha croaks about this and that, and suggests how dreadful it is to think of those dear, innocent little children exposed to such evil influences. That last item appeals strong to Mrs. Pinckney and Sadie, though.

"Of course," says Geraldine, "the twins don't suspect a thing as yet, and whatever we discover must be kept from them."

"Certainly," says Sadie, "the poor little dears mustn't know."

So part of the programme was to keep them out of her way as much as possible without actually callin' her to the bench, and that's what fetched me out there early the other afternoon. It was my turn at protectin' innocent childhood. I must say, though, it's hard realizin'

they need anything of that sort when you're within reach of that Jack and Jill combination. Most people seem to feel the other way; but, while their society is apt to be more or less strenuous, I can gen'rally stand an hour or so of it without collectin' any broken bones.

As usual, they receives me with an ear splittin' whoop, and while Jill gives me the low tackle around the knees Jack proceeds to climb up my back and twine his arms affectionate around my neck.

"Hey, Uncle Shorty," they yells in chorus, "come play Wild West with us!"

"G'wan, you young terrors!" says I, luggin' 'em out on the lawn and dumpin' 'em on the grass. "Think I'd risk my neck at any such game as that? Hi! leggo that necktie or I'll put on the spanks! Say, ain't you got any respect for company clothes? Now straighten up quiet and tell me about the latest deviltry you've been up to."

"Pooh!" says Jill. "We're not afraid of you."

"And we know why you're here to-day, too," says Jack.

"Do you?" says I. "Well, let's have it."

"You're on guard," says Jill, "keeping us away from old Clicky."

"Old Clicky?" says I.

"Uh-huh," says Jack. "The goosy governess, you know."

"Eh?" says I, openin' my eyes.

"We call her that," says Jill, "because her teeth click so when she gets excited. At night she keeps 'em in a glass of water. Do you suppose they click then?"

"Her hair comes off too," says Jack, "and it's all gray underneath. We fished it off once, and she was awful mad."

"You just ought to hear her when she gets mad," says Jill. "She drops her H's."

"She don't do it before folks, though," says Jack, "'cause she makes believe she's French. She's awful good to us, though, and we love her just heaps."

"You've got queer ways of showin' it," says I.

"What makes Aunt Martha so scared of her?" says Jill. "Do you think it's so she would really and truly murder us all and run off with the jewelry, or that she'd let in burglars after dark? She meets someone every Thursday night by the side gate, you know."

"A tall woman with veils over her face," adds Jack. "We hid in the bushes and watched 'em."

"Say, for the love of Mike," says I, "is there anything about your governess you kids haven't heard or seen? What more do you know?"

"Lots," says Jill. "She's scared of Marie, the new maid. Marie makes her help with the dishes, and make up her own bed, and wait on herself all the time."

"And she has to study beforehand all the lessons she makes us learn,"

says Jack. "She studies like fun every night in her room, and when we ask questions from the back of the book she don't know the answers."