In Secret | Page 7

in France!"
"Surely, surely," he murmured.
"Do you think it will, Mr. Vaux?"
"Maybe it will," he said, not believing it. He added: "I think, however,
your undoubted ability is going to land us both in jail."
At which pessimistic prognosis they both began to laugh. She was very
lovely when she laughed.
"I hope they'll give us the same cell," she said. "Don't you?"
"Surely," he replied gaily.
Once he remembered the photograph of Arethusa in his desk at
headquarters, and thought that perhaps he might need it before the

evening was over.
"Surely, surely," he muttered to himself, "hum--hum!"
Her coupe stopped in Fifty-sixth Street near Madison Avenue.
"The car will wait here," remarked the girl, as Vaux helped her to
descend. "Lauffer's shop is just around the corner." She took his arm to
steady herself on the icy sidewalk. He liked it.
In the bitter darkness there was not a soul to be seen on the street; no
tramcars were approaching on Madison Avenue, although far up on the
crest of Lenox Hill the receding lights of one were just vanishing.
"Do you see any policemen?" she asked in a low voice.
"Not one. They're all frozen to death, I suppose, as we will be in a few
minutes."
They turned into Madison Avenue past the Hotel Essex. There was not
a soul to be seen. Even the silver-laced porter had retired from the
freezing vestibule. A few moments later Miss Erith paused before a
shop on the ground floor of an old-fashioned brownstone residence
which had been altered for business.
Over the shop-window was a sign: "H. Lauffer, Frames and Gilding."
The curtains of the shop-windows were lowered. No light burned
inside.
Over Lauffer's shop was the empty show-window of another shop--on
the second floor--the sort of place that milliners and tea-shop keepers
delight in--but inside the blank show-window was pasted the sign "To
Let."
Above this shop were three floors, evidently apartments. The windows
were not lighted.
"Lauffer lives on the fourth floor," said Miss Erith. "Will you please
give me the jimmy, Vaux?"

He fished it out of his overcoat pocket and looked uneasily up and
down the deserted avenue while the girl stepped calmly into the open
entryway. There were two doors, a glass one opening on the stairs
leading to the upper floors, and the shop door on the left.
She stooped over for a rapid survey, then with incredible swiftness
jimmied the shop door.
The noise of the illegal operations awoke the icy and silent avenue with
a loud, splitting crash! The door swung gently inward.
"Quick!" she said. And he followed her guiltily inside.
The shop was quite warm. A stove in the rear room still emitted heat
and a dull red light. On the stove was a pot of glue, or some other
substance used by gilders and frame makers. Steam curled languidly
from it; also a smell not quite as languid.
Vaux handed her an electric torch, then flashed his own. The next
moment she found a push button and switched on the lights in the shop.
Then they extinguished their torches.
Stacks of frames in raw wood, frames in "compo," samples gilded and
in natural finish littered the untidy place. A few process "mezzotints"
hung on the walls. There was a counter on which lay twine, shears and
wrapping paper, and a copy of the most recent telephone directory. It
was the only book in sight, and Miss Erith opened it and spread her
copy of the cipher-letter beside it. Then she began to turn the pages
according to the numbers written in her copy of the cipher letter.
Meanwhile, Vaux was prowling. There were no books in the rear room;
of this he was presently assured. He came back into the front shop and
began to rummage. A few trade catalogues rewarded him and he
solemnly laid them on the counter.
"The telephone directory is NOT the key," said Miss Erith, pushing it
aside. A few moments were sufficient to convince them that the key did
not lie within any of the trade catalogues either.

"Have you searched very carefully?" she asked.
"There's not another book in the bally shop."
"Well, then, Lauffer must have it in his apartment upstairs."
"Which apartment is it?"
"The fourth floor. His name is under a bell on a brass plate in the entry.
I noticed it when I came in." She turned off the electric light; they went
to the door, reconnoitred cautiously, saw nobody on the avenue.
However, a tramcar was passing, and they waited; then Vaux flashed
his torch on the bell-plate.
Under the bell marked "Fourth Floor" was engraved Herman Lauffer's
name.
"You know," remonstrated Vaux, "we have no warrant for this sort of
thing, and it means serious