“Whoever did it didn’t open the safe. It’s still there, sweet.”

She got up, and as he steadied her he thought how thin she was, how badly life had treated her. His arm tightened around her.

“If it’s still there,” she said excitedly. “Do you think we could get it? Oh, Court, can’t we get it? She must have had the combination somewhere. She never trusted her memory.”

“We can make a try anyhow. Able to get upstairs?”

“I could fly, if I thought it would help.”

They were a sorry-looking pair as they went up the long staircase, Jan’s eyes still swollen, her rumpled nightgown under her bathrobe, her feet still bare. Young Brooke was not much better, a disreputable figure in a suit which had been soaked with rain, his hair standing wildly in all directions, and his collar melted around his neck. They did not notice the uniformed man in the lower hall, standing stolidly on guard, and there was hope in both of them until they reached the upper hall, to confront a policeman parked outside Mrs. Fairbanks’s door, smoking a surreptitious cigarette.

He put it out quickly, so he did not see the dismay in their faces.

Brooke left soon after that. Eileen was still sleeping. The house was quiet. But outside in the grounds one or two men were quietly examining the pillars and roof of the porte-cochere, and a detective in plain clothes and bent double was going carefully over the ground around the stable and near the fence.

He looked up as the doctor neared him.

“Got permission to leave the place?”

“I’m the doctor,” Brooke said stiffly. “My office is across the street. Anything to say about that?”

He was in a fighting mood, but the detective only grinned.

“Not a word, brother. Not a word. Might like a look at your feet. That’s all.”

“What the hell are my feet to you?”

“Not a thing. You could lose ’em both and I wouldn’t shed a tear. Lemme look at those shoes, doc.”

Brooke was seething, but after a glance at the shoes, especially the soles, the detective only shrugged.

“Went out of here after the rain started, didn’t you?” he said. “All right. That checks. I’ll see you later. Those shoes could stand some work on them.”

Brooke was still furious as he started across the street. For the first time he realized the excitement in the neighborhood. There was a large crowd around the entrance to the driveway on Grove Avenue, and the windows on both streets were filled with men in their shirt sleeves, and women hastily or only partially dressed. To add to his rage the slovenly girl from the house where he had his offices was on the steps, surrounded by a group of laughing boys.

He caught one of them and shook him.

“Get out of here,” he said. “Get out and stay out, all of you.” He jerked the girl to her feet. “Go inside and do some work, for once,” he ordered. “If I catch you out here again—”