Mechanically they began to put things to rights. Mary gathered up the books and set them back on the shelves and Billie stood the chairs on their legs and collected the papers. They were not important ones, she knew, only decoys, as her father had called them. In the mean time the house rocked in the clutches of the storm.
"I don't know why we bother to do this," said Billie laughing hysterically. "We may be flying through the air any minute ourselves along with the chairs and papers and everything else."
"The storm at Nikko was mere child's play to this; just an infant babe in arms," answered Mary, weeping softly while she worked.
It seemed better to be doing something than to sit still and listen to the terrifying fury of the tempest, as again and again it hurled itself against the house.
"It wouldn't have done any good even if we had caught the thief or spy or whatever he is," observed Billie after a while. "There would have been no one to help us."
Suddenly Mary's perturbed mind harked back to what had happened in the hall.
"Billie," she cried, "it wasn't a man; it was a woman. That skirt I caught—that—that something—where is it?"
"What are you talking about, Mary?"
"I tell you I caught hold of something. It came off in my hands."
She ran into the hall and, groping about on the floor, presently found what seemed to be a long coat. Rushing back she spread it on the desk. Billie held the candle high and the two girls stood gazing at it for some moments without speaking. Then Billie slowly placed the candle on the desk and sat down.