For a second she rested her head on his shoulder with an abandon of childlike confidence, and his heart thrilled.  His inner consciousness, however, warned him that a deeper motive than his desire to save Dorothy actuated him—­he must shield the mother from the danger that had threatened the one vulnerable point in her armor of indifference, the love and respect of her child.

At the apartment, inquiry for Aunt Lydia elicited the information that the lady had that moment left in company with Miss Gard, and the two conspirators proceeded alone to the library.

Gard closed the door, drew the heavy leather curtain, and turned questioningly to Dorothy.  With slow, reluctant movements she approached the wall, released the panel and exposed the front of the safe.  With inexpert fingers, she set the combination and pulled back the door.

“Where is the spring?” demanded Gard.  He could not bear to have her touch what might lie behind the second partition.  “Here, dear, take out these jewel cases and see if they are all right.”  He swept the velvet and morocco boxes into her hands, and felt better as he heard their clattering fall upon the table.  He paused, listening for an instant to the beating of his own heart.  He pressed the spring, and with swimming eyes looked at what the shelves revealed.  “Dorothy,” he called, and his voice was brittle as thin glass, “take a pencil and make a list as I dictate:  One package of government bonds; a sheaf of bills, marked $2,000; two small boxes, wrapped and sealed; three large envelopes, sealed; two vouchers pinned together.  Have you got that?  I’ll take possession for the present.  Make a copy of that list for me.”  He snapped fast the inner door, and turned as he thrust the last of the packets into an inner pocket.  “Now, thank you, my dear; and how about the valuables?”

“There’s nothing missing,” said Dorothy, handing him a written slip, “except things I know mother took with her.  So robbery wasn’t the motive.  I think you must be right.  It’s some crank.  But, oh, if you only knew how afraid I am to stay here!  I’m afraid of my own shadow; I’m afraid of the clock chimes; when the telephone rings I’m in a panic.  Don’t you think I could go away somewhere, with Tante Lydia—­just go away?”

Gard grasped at the suggestion.  He could be sure that she would be beyond the reach of Mahr and his poisonous vengeance until he had time to crush him once and for all.

“Yes,” he nodded, “you should go away.  This crank may be dangerous.  We know he is cunning.  You should go with your chaperon—­say nothing about where to anyone, not to a soul, mind; not to the servants here, not even to Teddy Mahr.  Just run down incognito to Atlantic City or Lakewood, or better still, to some little place where you are not known.  Write your polite little notes, and say your first season has been too strenuous, and run away.  When can you go?  To-night?  To-morrow morning?”