"But there was a burglar!" P. Sybarite contended brightly. "You saw him yourself."
"No."
"But—but you did see him—later, on the stairs!"
Smiling, the woman shook her head. "I saw no burglar—merely a dear friend. In short, if it interests you to know, I saw my husband."
"Madam!" P. Sybarite sat up with a shocked expression.
"Oh," said the woman lightly, "we're good enough for one another—he and I. He deserved what he got when he married me. But that's not saying I'm content to see him duck what's coming to him for to-night's deviltry. In fact, I mean to get him before he gets me. Are you game to lend me a hand?"
"Me, madam!" cried P. Sybarite in alarm. "Far be it from me to come between husband and wife!"
"Don't be afraid: I'm not asking you to dabble your innocent hands in a fellow-human's blood—merely to run an errand for me."
"Really—I'd rather be excused."
"Really," she mocked pleasantly, "you won't be. I'm a gentle creature but determined—frail but firm, you know. Perhaps you've heard of me—Mrs. Jefferson Inche?"