Now, in desperate haste, Hester flung off her scarlet cloak and, with a few deft movements, loosened the shoulder straps that held the false arm in place. Anton might search her and, if he found this—There! it was off! And none too soon, for at that very moment the loose-jointed figure of the chauffeur appeared, silhouetted in sinister black, against the ground glass wall of the conservatory. A moment later he was trying to open the door, clicking savagely at the lock.
Where could she hide the false arm? Anton would be here in a second. There was another door at the end of the conservatory where he could come in. She dared not lock this other door, for then he would know that she was guilty. But the false arm? High up along the wall, higher up than she could reach, ran a wide shelf ranged with tin cans and packages of seed and coils of rubber hose. It was the best she could do, and, with a quick movement, Hester flung the false member upward so that it touched the ceiling and then fell out of sight behind a rusty watering pot. As she did so she saw Anton's shadow nearing the other door. Well, she was ready for him. Wait! Her cloak! There!
And now, partly to hide her agitation, partly with a feminine idea of taking the aggressive in a bad cause, Hester stepped to a telephone fixed against the wall near the library door. What was the telephone number on that card she had picked up in the garage? Ah, yes! And in the very last second before the chauffeur entered she took up the receiver, placing her hand so that the little finger, unperceived, held down the hook and there was no communication.
Thus, when the chauffeur burst in, boiling with anger, Hester Storm, attired in her scarlet cloak and perfectly calm, was talking in a natural and business-like way to the unresponsive green-painted wall of the conservatory.
"Hello! Yes, Mr. Henderson," she was saying, apparently absorbed in her telephoning and quite unconscious that Anton was present. "I understand. I'll report to-morrow as usual. What? You don't want me to call up 724 Chelsea? Oh, I see."
As she pretended to listen, the girl held the transmitter so that she could watch her adversary's face in the nickel-plate surface. It was evident that his surprise and alarm were genuine.
"Very well, Mr. Henderson," she concluded. "I will telephone to the house. Good-by, sir." And, hanging up the receiver, she turned innocently toward Anton.
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "When did you come?"
He strode toward her with an ugly look. "Who were you telephoning to?"
"No one in particular, a—a friend of mine," she answered with simulated embarrassment.