“Man was half asleep,” he said. “Probably forgot the chain altogether. But it all ties up. Fellow who got Evans’s keys has started to use them. Only he didn’t know about the dog.”

“Anyone who knew Evans had the keys would know about Roger,” I told him. “And Roger only barks at strangers.”

Jim was unimpressed. “Sure it was a stranger,” he said. “Who do you think it was? An old family friend?”

But the police discovered nothing. There were no footprints on the dry ground outside, and the net result was merely an intensified watchfulness on the part of the entire household which made the second invasion—when it occurred—more puzzling than ever. But even aside from that incident I suppose we had all the elements of a domestic tragedy in the making at that time. Certainly no one of us was entirely normal. Tony, after the night by the playhouse, was once again bitter and somber. Maud was strange, almost remote, and Bessie both arrogant and disagreeable. It seems odd, then, to remember that the first indication of real trouble when it finally came did not apparently involve any of us.

It happened a few days later, and it involved, of all people in the world, Lydia Morgan.

That day stands out in my memory for more reasons than one. First, it was my birthday, and my twenty-sixth at that. I had almost forgotten it until, after Tony had gone to the city, Maud called me on the house telephone and asked me to go out to the drive.

“There’s something there for you,” she said. “Happy birthday, my dear.”

I was in my office at the time. I rushed out, and in front of the house was Gus, grinning, and a brand-new car. I could not believe my eyes.

“But it can’t be—” I said. “What does Mrs. Wainwright want me to see?”

“The car, miss,” said Gus, looking very pleased with himself. “It’s for you. Happy birthday, Miss Pat.”

Of course, I did the idiotic thing. I put my hand on a shiny new fender and burst into tears. Gus’s grin died.

“It’s joy, Gus,” I said. “I never hoped to have a car like this. I never—” I kept on crying, and altogether we had rather a moist time of it. Before I went in I drove around a bit. It handled like a fine horse; one touch and it moved. I took it down to the garage, where the men looked it over and rendered a satisfactory verdict; and to the stables, where old James, head groom for years and now with only a stable boy or two to help him, said that it could probably do everything but jump.

On my way back to the house my common sense began to assert itself. Maud had no right to give me a car. She was spending too much money already. But one look at her face when I saw her made any protest difficult.

“Do you like it, Pat?”