"Perhaps so," and she spoke lightly. "And perhaps by a window, and maybe by means of an aeroplane and down through the skylight."
"Not that," I said, "the skylight is fastened on the inside, and has been ever since—ever since that night."
"Well, then I don't come that way. But if you'll get that book and put it in the big vase, I'll come and get it. When will it be there?"
"You're crazy to think I can get it," I returned, slowly, "but if I can I will. Give me a few days—"
"A week, if you like. Shall we say a week from to-night?"
"Next Monday? Yes. If I can get it at all, I can have it by then. How shall I let you know?"
"You needn't let me know, for I know now you will get it. Steal it from Mr. Lowney, if you can't get it otherwise."
"But if Fleming Stone is on your trail, will you come for the book?"
"I must," she spoke gravely. "I must have the book. It means everything to me. I must have it!"
"Then you shall, if I can manage it. It is your book, it has proved of no value as evidence, you may as well have it."