"The windows were open, and I recollect there was a strong draught,"

remarked Ferguson thoughtfully. "But not sufficient to carry away that envelope."

"Exactly." Kent stepped closer. "Did you observe which one of our companions stood nearest the porch table?"

Ferguson eyed him curiously. "Say, are you insinuating that one of those people took your envelope?"

"Yes."

A subdued whistle escaped Ferguson. "What was in that envelope. Mr.

Kent," he demanded, "to make it of any value to that bunch?" and as Kent did not answer immediately, he added, "Are you sure it had nothing to do with Jimmie Turnbull's death and Philip Rochester's disappearance?"

"Quite sure." Kent's gaze did not waver before his penetrating look. "I have already told you that the envelope contained old love letters, and I very naturally do not wish them to fall into the hands of Colonel McIntyre, the father of the girl I hope to marry."

Ferguson smiled understandingly. "I see. From what I know of Colonel McIntyre there's a very narrow, nagging spirit concealed under his frank and engaging manner; I wish you joy of your future father-in-law," and he chuckled.

"Thanks," dryly. "You haven't answered my question as to who stood nearest the porch table, Ferguson."

The detective looked thoughtful. "We all stood fairly near; perhaps Mrs.

Brewster was a shade the nearest. Mr. Clymer was offering her a chair when that noise came from the dining room. There's one thing I am willing to swear to"--his manner grew more earnest--"that envelope was still lying on the table when I hustled into the dining room."

"Well, who was the last person to leave the porch?" Kent demanded eagerly.

"I don't know," was the disappointing answer. "I reached the door at the same moment you did and pa.s.sed right around the dining room to get a view of what was going on. I thought I would take a squint at the tables and see if there was any wine being used," he admitted. "But there was nothing doing in that line. Then Mr. Clymer offered to bring me down to Headquarters, and I left the club with him."

Kent took a turn about the room. "Did Mr. Clymer go to the Cosmos Club?"

he asked, pausing by the detective.

"No, I heard him tell his chauffeur to drive to the Saratoga. Want to use the telephone?" observing Kent's glance stray to the instrument.

By way of answer Kent took off the receiver and after giving a number to Central, he recognized Clymer's voice over the telephone.

"That you, Mr. Clymer? Yes, well, this is Kent speaking. Can you tell me who was the last person to leave the porch when Colonel de Geofroy made his farewell speech to-night at the club?"

"I was," came Clymer's surprised answer.

"I waited for McIntyre to pick up Mrs. Brewster's fan."

"Did he take my letter off the table also?" called Kent.

"Why, no." Clymer's voice testified to his increased surprise. "Mrs.

Brewster dropped her fan right in the doorway just as McIntyre and I approached; we both stooped to get it and, like fools; b.u.mped our heads together in the act. He got the fan, however, and I waited for him to walk into the dining room before following Mrs. Brewster."

"As you pa.s.sed the table, Mr. Clymer, did you see my letter lying on the table?" persisted Kent.

"Upon my word I never looked at the table," Clymer's hearty tone carried conviction. "I walked right along in my hurry to know what the cheering was about. I am sorry, Kent; have you mislaid your letter?"

"Yes," glumly. "Sorry to have disturbed you, Mr. Clymer; good night,"

and Clymer's echoing, "Good night" sounded faintly as he hung up the receiver.

"Drew blank," he announced, turning to Ferguson. "Confound you, Ferguson; you had no right to touch the papers in my safe. If harm comes from it, I'll make you suffer," and not waiting for the detective's jumbled apologies and explanations, he hurried from the building. But once on the sidewalk he paused for thought. McIntyre must have picked up the white envelope, there was no other feasible explanation of its disappearance. But what had attracted his attention to the envelope--the red seal with the big letter "B" was its only identifying mark. If Helen had only told him the contents of the envelope!

Kent struck his clenched fist in his left hand in wrath; something must be done, he could not stand there all night. Although it was through no fault of his own that he had lost the envelope entrusted to his care, he was still responsible to Helen for its disappearance. She must be told that it was gone, however unpleasant the task.

Kent walked hastily along Pennsylvania Avenue until he came to a drug store still open, and entered the telephone booth. He had recollected that the twins had a branch telephone in their sitting room; he would have to chance their being awake at that hour.

Barbara McIntyre turned on her pillow and rubbed her sleepy eyes; surely she had been mistaken in thinking she heard the telephone bell ringing.

Even as she lay striving to listen, she dozed off again, to be rudely awakened by Helen's voice at her ear.

"Babs!" came the agitated whisper. "The envelope's gone."

"Gone!" Barbara swung out of bed.

"Gone where?"

"Father has it."

Downstairs in the library Mrs. Brewster paused on her entrance by the side of a piece of carved Venetian furniture and laying her coronation scarf on it, she examined a white envelope--the red seal was intact.

At the sound of approaching footsteps she raised a trap door in the piece of furniture and only her keen ears caught the faint thud of the envelope as it dropped inside, then with a happy, tender smile she turned to meet Colonel McIntyre.

CHAPTER XII. THE ECHO OF A LAUGH

Colonel McIntyre tramped the deserted dining room in exasperation.

Nine o'clock and the twins had not come to breakfast, nor was there any evidence that Mrs. Brewster intended taking that meal downstairs.

"Will you wait any longer, sir?" inquired Grimes, who hovered solicitously in the background. "I'm afraid, sir, your eggs will be over-done."

"Bring them along," directed McIntyre, and flung himself into his chair at the foot of the table. He had been seated but a few minutes when Barbara appeared and dutifully presented her cheek to be kissed, then she tripped lightly to Helen's place opposite her father, and pressed the electric bell for Grimes.

"Coffee, please," she said as that worthy appeared, and busied herself in arranging the cups and saucers. "Helen is taking her breakfast upstairs," she explained to her father.

"How about Mrs. Brewster?"

"Still asleep." Barbara poured out her father's coffee with careful attention to detail. "I peeked into her room a moment ago and she looked so 'comfy' I hadn't the heart to awaken her. You must have been very late at the club last night."

"We got home a little after one o'clock."

McIntyre helped himself to poached eggs and bacon. "What did you do last night?"

"Went to bed early," answered Barbara with brevity. "Helen wasn't feeling well."

McIntyre's handsome face showed concern as he glanced across the table.

"Have you sent for Dr. Stone?"

"No."