His words fell on inattentive ears; for Simpkins was sitting stunned under the revelation of the letter.  Now that he had his story, he knew that he had not wanted it.

But he roused himself when he became conscious that the professor was peering at him curiously over the top of his glasses, and said: 

“Pretty warm stuff, eh!  Good josh!  Great girl!  Ought to know her.  She’s daft on this Egyptian business.”

“Her letter is perhaps a trifle er—­impulsive,” the professor answered.  “But she combines the ancient and the modern charmingly.  I congratulate you.”

“Thanks, Professor,” Simpkins answered awkwardly, and took his leave.

Once in the street, he plunged along, head down.  It was worse than he had suspected.  He had felt all along that the boy’s surmises about Brander were correct; now he knew that his suspicions of Mrs. Athelstone were well founded.  But he would keep her from that hypocrite, that hawk, that—­murderer!  Simpkins stopped short at the intrusion of that word.  It had come without logic or reason, but he knew now that it had been shaping in his head for two days past.  And once spoken, it began to justify itself.  There was the motive, clear, distinct and proven; there were the means and the man.

Next morning Simpkins was earlier than usual at the Oriental Building, where he found the youth waiting for Brander to come and open up the inner office.

“Parson’s late, eh?” he threw out by way of greeting.

“Always is,” was the surly answer.  “He’s de ’rig’nal seven sleepers.”

“Puts you behind with your cleaning, eh?”

“Naw; youse ought to know I don’t do no cleanin’.”

“You don’t?  I thought you tended to Mrs. Athelstone’s rooms and—­Mr. Brander’s storeroom.”

“Aw, go wan.  I’m no second girl, an’ de storeroom’s never cleaned.  Dere’s nothin’ to clean but a lot of stones an’ bum mummies an’ such.”

“Brander can’t sell much stuff; I never see anything being shipped.”

“Oh!  I don’t know!  We sent a couple of embammed dooks to Chicago last week.”

“And last month?”

“Search me; I only copped out me job here last mont’; but seems as if his whiskers did say dere was somethin’ doin’.”  And just then Mr. Brander came along.

Simpkins had found out what he wanted to know, and he decided that he must bring his plans to a head at once.  Mrs. Athelstone was expected back the next day; he must search the storeroom that very night.  If—­well, he thought he could spoil one scoundrel.

He worked to good advantage during the day, and at nine o’clock that night, when he was back outside the Oriental Building, there were three new keys in his pocket.

He unlocked the door noiselessly, tiptoed up the staircase, and gained the friendly blackness of the ante-chamber quite unobserved.  The watchman was half a block away, sitting by the only street entrance kept open at night.