"She's been too scared to study or anything, ever since Monday," says Jill. "Do you think they'll have a policeman take her away before she poisons us all? We heard Aunt Martha say they ought to."

Say, they had the whole story, and more too. If there was anything about Madame Roulaire's actions, her past hist'ry, or what people thought of her that had got by these two, I'd like to know what it was.

"Gee!" says I. "Talk about protectin' you! What you need most is a pair of gags and some blinders. Now trot along off and do your worst, while I look up Pinckney and give him some advice."

I was strollin' through the house lookin' for him, and I'd got as far as the lib'ry, when who should I see but Madame Roulaire comin' through the opposite door. Someway, I didn't feel like meetin' them sleuthy eyes just then, or seein' that smirky smile; so I dodges back and pikes down the hall. She must have had the same thought; for we almost collides head on halfway down, and the next thing I know she's dropped onto a davenport, sobbin' and shakin' all over.

"Excuse me for mentionin' it," says I; "but there ain't any call for hysterics."

"Oh, I know who you are now," says she. "You--you're a private detective!"

"Eh?" says I. "How'd you get onto my disguise?"

"I knew it from the first," says she. "And then, when I saw you with the children, asking them about me----Oh, you won't arrest me and take me away from the darlings, will you? Please don't take me to jail! I'll tell you everything, truly I will, sir!"

"That might help some," says I; "but, if you're goin' to 'fess up, suppose you begin at Chapter I. Was it the fam'ly jewels you was after?"

"No, no!" says she. "I never took a penny's worth in my life. Truckles could tell you that if he could only be here."

"Truckles, eh!" says I. "Now just who was----"

"My 'usband, sir," says she. "And I'm Mrs. Truckles."

"Oh-ho!" says I. "Then this Roulaire name you've been flaggin' under was sort of a _nom de plume_?"

"It was for Katy I did it!" she sobs.

"Oh, yes," says I. "Well, what about Katy?"

And, say, that was the way it come out; first, a bit here and then a bit there, with me puttin' the ends together and patchin' this soggy everyday yarn out of what we'd all thought was such a deep, dark mystery.

She was English, Mrs. Truckles was, and so was the late Truckles. They'd worked together, him bein' a first class butler whose only fault was he couldn't keep his fingers off the decanters. It was after he'd struck the bottom of the toboggan slide and that thirst of his had finished him for good and all that Mrs. Truckles collects her little Katy from where they'd boarded her out and comes across to try her luck on this side.

She'd worked up as far as housekeeper, and had made enough to educate Katy real well and marry her off to a bright young gent by the name of McGowan that owned a half interest in a corner saloon up in the Bronx and stood well with the district leader.

She was happy and contented in them days, Mrs. Truckles was, with McGowan doin' a rushin' business, gettin' his name on the Tammany ticket, and Katy patronizing a swell dressmaker and havin' a maid of her own. Then, all of a sudden, Mrs. Truckles tumbles to the fact that Katy is gettin'

ashamed of havin' a mother that's out to service and eatin' with the chauffeur and the cook. Not that she wants her livin' with them,--McGowan wouldn't stand for that,--but Katy did think Mother might do something for a living that wouldn't blur up the fam'ly escutcheon quite so much.

It was just when Mrs. Truckles was feelin' this most keen that the French governess where she was got married and went West to live, leavin' behind her, besides a collection of old hats, worn out shoes, and faded picture postals, this swell reference from Lady Jigwater. And havin' put in a year or so in France with dif'rent families that had taken her across, and havin' had to pick up more or less of the language, Mrs. Truckles conceives the great scheme of promotin' herself from the back to the front of the house. So she chucks up as workin' housekeeper, splurges on the wig, and strikes a swell intelligence office with this phony reference.

Course, with anybody else but an easy mark like Mrs. Pinckney, maybe she wouldn't have got away with it; but all Geraldine does is glance at the paper, ask her if she likes children, and put her on the payroll.

"Well?" says I. "And it got you some worried tryin' to make good, eh?"

"I was near crazy over it," says she. "I thought I could do it at first; but it came cruel 'ard. Oh, sir, the lies I've 'ad to tell, keepin' it up. And with the rest of the 'elp all 'ating me! Marie used me worst of all, though. She made me tell 'er everything, and 'eld it over my 'ead.

Next that Aunt Martha came and thought up so many bad things about me--you know."

"Sure," says I; "but how about this Sir Podmore?"

"I was 'ead laundress at Podmore 'Ouse," says she, "and I thought it was all up when he saw me here. I never should have tried to do it. I'm a good 'ousekeeper, if I do say it; but I'm getting to be an old woman now, and this will end me. It was for Katy I did it, though. Every week she used to come and throw it in my face that she couldn't call at the front door and--and----Well, I 'opes you'll believe me, sir; but that was just the way of it, and if I'm taken to jail it will kill Katy and----"

"Aha!" breaks in a voice behind us. "Here, Pinckney! Come, Geraldine!

This way everybody!" and as I turns around there's Aunt Martha with the accusin' finger out and her face fairly beamin'. Before I can get in a word she's assembled the fam'ly.

"What did I tell you?" she cackles. "She's broken down and confessed! I heard her!"

"Is it true, Shorty?" demands Mrs. Pinckney. "Does she admit that she was plotting to----"

"Yep!" says I. "It's something awful too, almost enough to curdle your blood."

"Go on," says Aunt Martha. "Tell us the worst. What is it?"

"It's a case of standin' broad jump," says I, "from housekeeper to governess, with an age handicap and a crooked entry."

Course, I has to work out the details for 'em, and when I've stated the whole hideous plot, from the passing of Truckles the Thirsty to the high pride of Katy the Barkeep's Bride, includin' the tale of the stolen character and chuckin' the nervy bluff--well, they didn't any of 'em know what to say. They just stands around gawpin' curious at this sobbin', wabbly kneed old party slumped down there on the hall seat.

Aunt Martha, actin' as prosecutor for the State, is the first to recover.

"Well, there's no knowin' how far she might have gone," says she. "And she ought to be punished some way. Pinckney, what are you going to do with her?"

For a minute he looks from Aunt Martha to the object in the middle of the circle, and then he drops them black eyelashes lazy, like he was half-asleep, and I knew somethin' was coming worth listenin' to.

"Considering all the circumstances," says Pinckney, "I think we shall discharge Marie, increase Mrs. Truckles' salary, give her an assistant, and ask her to stay with us permanently. Eh, Geraldine?"

And Geraldine nods hearty.

"Pinckney, let's shake on that," says I. "Even if your head is full of soap bubbles, you've got an eighteen-carat heart in you. Hear the news, Mrs. Truckles?"

"Then--then I'm not to go to jail?" says she, takin' her hands off her face and lookin' up straight and steady for the first time in months.

"Jail nothin'!" says I. "There's goin' to be a new deal, and you start in fresh with a clean slate."

"Humph!" snorts Aunt Martha. "Do you expect me to stay here and countenance any such folly?"

"I'm far too considerate of my relatives for that," says Pinckney.

"There's a train at five-thirty-six."

And, say, to see Mrs. Truckles now, with her gray hair showin' natural, and her chin up, and a twin hangin' to either hand, and the sleuthy look gone out of them old eyes, you'd hardly know her for the same party!

These antelope leaps is all right sometimes; but when you take 'em you want to be wearin' your own shoes.

CHAPTER XIII

HEINEY TAKES THE GLOOM CURE

Two in one day, mind you. It just goes to show what effect the first dose of hot weather is liable to have on the custard heads. Well, maybe I oughtn't to call 'em that, either. They can't seem to help gettin' that way, any more'n other folks can dodge havin' bad dreams, or boils on the neck. And I ain't any mind specialist; so when it comes to sayin' what'll soften up a man's brain, or whether he couldn't sidestep it if he tried, I passes the make.