Swiftly she ran her hands over the carvings, trying to find the lever to the secret panel again. "My mother,—my poor mother!" exclaimed Jack. “And what is it all about, Veronica?” he asked, with a deliberate note of irony, looking at her a little quizzically over his glasses. “This is all madness,” she declared wearily. But two weeks later he returned. Nothing disheartened by this survey, Jack set to work upon the lock, which he attacked with all his implements;—now attempting to pick it with the nail;— now to wrench it off with the bar: but all without effect. Drummond took up a cigarette and lit it. ‘Yes, dear Nan, a flirtation.
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