"Put this five-dollar bill into your pocket and give me a hand setting the box in the back," said Wilkins. "It's packed with delicate stuff, and the master instructed me particular to keep a hand on it."
So, while the hard-faced one smiled brightly and, the bill in his pocket, reflected that a murder must have been committed but that it was none of his business in any case, Anthony's wardrobe trunk was stood erect and the taxicab rolled off swiftly, headed for the palatial home of Theodore Dalton.
A block or two and, in the most uninterested way, Wilkins managed to open the lid for an inch or more, and in the space appeared a little pink nose and, presently, as the nose withdrew, a brilliant blue eye.
"Can you open it a little more?" asked Mary.
Wilkins opened it a little more.
"I trust you're quite comfortable, miss?" he asked politely.
"Lovely!" said Mary. "Did any one—seem to notice when we left?"
"Not a soul, miss."
Mary, cramped though she might be, sighed vast relief.
"Tell Mr. Fry, when you get back, that I'll send for the things I left behind," she said softly.