"I 'm afraid I shall prove to be a very indifferent assistant," she lamented, with a rueful little laugh. "I did n't deserve your commendation even for finding the cipher, because, while I was examining the box I was too intent on listening to you and that dreadful Burke creature to heed what I was doing. I felt the paper crackle, and then saw a corner of it through one of the rents in the faded blue satin."
"Never mind now. Maybe we shall understand it later. Some ciphers, you know, are to be read only in connection with something else; I think this is such a one. Let's put it away and take up something that I know you can help me with.
"That faded card"—I pointed to it lying upon the table, and noted that her face instantly grew grave—"why did you start so when you first looked at it—just as we heard Burke on the porch?"
She regarded me steadily.
"Mr. Swift, that is my aunt's handwriting—her name."
"Do you mean Mrs. Fluette?" I was in truth unprepared for this blunt announcement.
"Yes," she replied simply.
I believe the first effect of this disclosure was no more than an uneasy, apprehensive feeling; but in a flash the possibilities entailed began to occur to me, and I was left groping for words.
During the silence that followed I vainly tried to arrange my thoughts; the color slowly faded from Miss Cooper's face, and by and by she averted it from mine. I knew that our minds were working in parallel currents; I knew without looking at her that she was anxious and trembling.