“Thank goodness!” said Diana.
A turn of her wrist and the safe was secure even against those who by cunning or violence had obtained the code word.
Mr. Julius Superbus came importantly, descending from a taxicab and drawing out after him a large tin box, mottled red and black. He produced, also from the interior of the cab, a large scrap-book fastened about with a broad green canvas strap. He also delivered from the cab a daring golf cap. These he deposited on the sidewalk, paid the taximan his fare, climbing inside to verify what had seemed to be a preposterous statement of claim, and donated the driver sixpence. Diana in the note she had scrawled had added a P.S. “Spare no expense.”
Gathering his belongings under both arms, he went up the steps, stooped and pressed the bell with his nose, a clever little device that had once come to him as an inspiration and which in itself advertised his originality.
Diana answered the door.
“You sent for me,” said Julius simply. “I have come.”
She was obviously relieved to see him, and piloted him into the dining-room.
“Mr. Superbus, I am going to make great demands upon you, and I’m sure I shall not ask in vain. I am in the greatest trouble.”
He inclined his head.
“Have you searched all your clothes?” he asked quickly. “You’ve lost something—I know this by, so to speak, a method of my own. It’s natural to suspect servants—but do they do it, ma’am? Not once in fifty times——”