CHAPTER XVI.
THE MAN IN THE CELLULOID COLLAR The amused smile which Mr.Pyecroft had worn when he had entered, and which he had subdued to thoughtful sobriety while "Wormwood" was assuaging the invalid's tribulations, began now to reappear.

It grew.
Mrs.De Peyster could but notice it, for he was smiling straight at her--that queer, whimsical, twisted smile of his.
"What is it ?" she felt forced to ask.
"We three are not the only ones, my dear Angelica," he replied, "who are trying to slip one across on Mrs.De Peyster.

Our friend the cabinet-maker is on the same job.

I might remark, that he's about as much a cabinet-maker as yourself." "What is he ?" "A detective, my dear." "A detective!" "The variety known as 'private,'" enlarged Mr.Pyecroft.
"What--what makes you think so ?" "Well, I felt it my duty to keep an eye on our new guest--unobtrusively, of course.

When I slipped out a little while ago it was to watch him.