"Yes, this is it—good-bye—I must—"
"Wait—what is your name?"
"I haven't any name," answered the woman suspiciously.
"Well—pardon me! Here!" and she thrust a bill into the woman's hand.
The girl stared. "Well, you're a queer one! Thanks. Guess I'll turn in."
Mary Cresswell turned to see her husband and his companions ascending the steps of the quiet mansion. She stood uncertainly and looked at the opening and closing door. Then a policeman came by and looked at her.
"Come, move on," he brusquely ordered. Her vacillation promptly vanished, and she resolutely mounted the steps. She put out her hand to ring, but the door flew silently open and a man-servant stood looking at her.
"I have some friends here," she said, speaking coarsely.
"You will have to be introduced," said the man. She hesitated and started to turn away. Thrusting her hand in her pocket it closed upon her husband's card-case. She presented a card. It worked a rapid transformation in the servant's manner, which did not escape her.
"Come in," he invited her.