"Here, take this," he directed. "It's the key to my father's apartment. The records you want are there. He and I have quarreled and you can go as far as you like."
Zita took the key eagerly, thanked Paul profusely, and started for the door.
She had barely passed the threshold before Dora, who had heard all, was at the telephone in her own room and was angrily calling up Balcom at his apartment.
Balcom, assisted by his Madagascan servant, was at the moment packing a trunk, perhaps preparatory to a hasty flight, should that become necessary. The moment the telephone rang he picked up the receiver and nearly choked with anger as he heard Dora's whispered voice over the wire.
"Paul has given Zita the key to your apartment," Dora hastened, "and she is coming over to steal the record of her birth."
"She is—eh? Well, I'll take care of that," growled Balcom, as he rang off.
Balcom went to a drawer in the table and from it took a large book. Rapidly he turned over the pages until he found what he wanted. Then he made an erasure and an entry and replaced the book in the drawer. Next he called the servant.
"When she comes, you make her a prisoner," he directed. "Understand?"
The Madagascan nodded and raised one of Balcom's hands to his own forehead as a sign of his fidelity.
Balcom went out and the servant stepped into the empty trunk to await the arrival of Zita.