She looked at him in wonder.  “Whatever made you sign such a paper?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“Heaven knows!” he answered.  “We were a little mad.  We did not mean to leave it in your father’s charge, however.  That is why this illness of his is so embarrassing to us.  We can’t help an idea that it is to keep out of our way for a few days, and to retain possession of that wretched document, that he is lying by.  If, on the other hand, his illness is genuine, and he were, to put it bluntly, to die, that paper would be discovered by his lawyer, and Heaven knows what he would do with it!”

“I am beginning to understand,” Stella said.  “Now please tell me where I come in.”

“We are willing,” Littleson said quietly, “to give a hundred thousand dollars to the person who places that paper in our charge.  To any one who knew your father’s house, and where he keeps his important documents, the task would not be an impossible one.”

She looked at him fixedly for several moments.  He was half afraid that she was going to get up and leave him.  Instead, however, she broke into a hard little laugh, and helped herself to another cigarette.

“You forget,” she said, “that I have no longer the entree to my father’s house.”

“It would be perfectly easy for you,” he answered, “to go there, especially with your father out of the way upstairs.  I presume that you know where he keeps his important papers?”

“Yes!  I know that,” she answered.  “It is a pity,” she added, with a faint smile upon her lips, “that those burglars didn’t, isn’t it?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“A clumsy effort that, of course,” he admitted, “especially when your father has a detective always round the place.  He is well guarded, but I think that you could do better than that if you would, Miss Duge.”

“About the paper?” she asked.

“It is simply,” he answered, “a sheet of foolscap.  I will not tell you exactly what is written upon it, but it contains a proposal with reference to raising a certain sum of money, to remove from office certain prominent politicians who are supporting this Anti-Trust Bill.  Our names are all there, Bardsley’s, Weiss’, Seth Higgins’, and my own.  Your father’s should have been there, but I believe he was too clever for us.”

She began drawing on her gloves.

“Well,” she said, “I have had a delightful morning, thanks to you, and these roses are lovely.  Supposing I should feel that my gratitude still requires some expression, where could I write you?”

He handed her a card, which she tucked into her muff.  They left the restaurant together, talking again of the people whom they passed, of the play at the theatre, of which they were reminded by the sight of a popular actress, and other indifferent matters.  He offered his automobile, which she declined.

“I am going to make a call quite close to here,” she said.  “Good-bye!”