Just then Jennings came into the room, ushering the two porters laden with the boxes and bags.
"Where shall I have them put these things, Miss Elaine?" he inquired.
"Oh—anywhere," she answered hurriedly, replacing the picture.
Jennings paused. As he did so, one of the porters limped forward. "I've a message for you, Miss," he said in a rich Irish brogue, with a look at Jennings, "to be delivered in private."
Elaine glanced at him surprised. Then she nodded to Jennings who disappeared. As he did so, the Irishman limped to the door and drew together the portieres.
Then he came back closer to Elaine.
A moment she looked at him, not quite knowing from his strange actions whether to call for help or not.
. . . . . . . .
At a motion from Kennedy, as he pulled off his wig, I pulled off the little false beard.
Elaine looked at us, transformed, startled.