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“And Bess must never know it,” said he; “it would worry her to death.” And then came a thought to Thaddeus’s mind that almost stopped the beating of his heart. “Unless she has discovered it in my absence,” he gasped. In an instant he was mounting the stairs to hasten to Bessie’s side, as though some terrible thing were pursuing him.

“Well, what was it, Ted?” she asked, as he entered the room.

Perkins gave a sigh of relief. All was safe enough above-stairs at least.

“Nothing much,” said Thaddeus, in a moment. “There is no one below.”

“But what could it have been?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” said Thaddeus, “unless it was a stray cat in the house. The sweeping sound may have been caused by a cat scratching its collar–or purring–or–or–something. At any rate, things appear to be all right, my dear, so let’s go to sleep.”

Thaddeus’s assumed confidence in the rightness of everything, rather than his explanations, was convincing to Mrs. Perkins, and in a very short while she was sleeping the sleep of the just and serene; but to Thaddeus’s eye there came no more sleep that night, and when morning came he rose unrefreshed. There were two problems confronting him. The first was to solve the mystery of the swept library floor; the second was to do this without arousing his wife’s suspicions that anything was wrong. To do the first he deemed it necessary to remain at home that day, which was easy, for Thaddeus was more or less independent of office-work.

“I’m glad you’re not going down,” said Mrs. Perkins, when he announced his intention of remaining at home. “You will be able to make up for your loss of sleep last night.”

“Yes,” said Thaddeus. “It’s the only thing I can do, I’m so played out.”

Breakfast passed off pleasantly in spite of a great drawback–the steak was burned almost to a crisp, and the fried potatoes were like chips of wood.

“Margaret seems to be unfamiliar with the art of cooking this morning,” said Thaddeus.

“So it would seem,” said Bessie. “This steak is horrible.”

“The worst part of it is,” said Thaddeus, “she has erred on the wrong side. If the steak were underdone it wouldn’t be so bad. Isn’t it a pity Edison can’t invent a machine to rarefy an overdone steak?”

“That would be a fine idea,” smiled Bessie. “And to take a Saratoga chip and make it less like a chip off a granite block.”

“I don’t mind the potatoes so much,” said Thaddeus. “I can break them up in a bowl of milk and secure a gastronomic novelty that, suitably seasoned, isn’t at all bad, but the steak is hopeless.”

“Maybe she heard that cat last night, and thought it was a burglar, just as we did,” Bessie suggested. “I can’t account for a breakfast like this in any other way, can you?”

“No,” said Thaddeus, shortly, and then he had an idea; and when Thaddeus had an idea he was apt to become extremely reticent.

“Poor Thad!” thought Bessie, as she noted his sudden change of demeanor. “He can’t stand loss of sleep.”

The morning was spent by Thaddeus in the “noble pastime of snooping,” as he called it. The house was searched by him in a casual sort of way from top to bottom for a clew to the mystery, but without avail. Several times he went below to the cellar, ostensibly to inspect his coal supply, really to observe the demeanor of Margaret, the cook. Barring an unusual pallor upon her cheek, she appeared to be as she always had been; but with the waitress it was different. Mary was evidently excited over something, but over what Thaddeus could not, of course, determine at that time. Later in the day, however, the cause of her perturbation came out, and Thaddeus’s effort to keep Bessie from anxiety over the occurrence of the night before was rendered unavailing. It was at luncheon. The table was set in a most peculiar fashion. The only china upon it was from an old set which had been discarded a year previous to the time of this story, and Bessie naturally wanted to know why, and the waitress broke down.