THE CHASE of the GOLDEN PLATE

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 26, 29 June 1907, Page 16

THE CHASE of the GOLDEN PLATE

By

JACQUES FUTRELLE

THE GIRL AND THE PLATE.

LOW BENT over the steering wheel, the Burglar sent the automobile scuttling breathlessly along the Hat road from Seven Oaks. At the first shot he crouched down in the seat, dragging the gill with him: at the second. he winced a little and clenched his teeth tigatly. I’he ear’s headlights cut a dazzling pathway through the shadow-;, ami trees flitted bv as a solid wall. The shouts of pursuers were left behind, ami still the Girl clung to his arm. "Don’t do that." he commanded abruptly. "You'll make me smash into somet h i ng." "Why. Dick, they shot at us!” she protested imlignant ly. I'he Burglar glanced at her. and, when he turned his eyes to the smooth road again, there was a flicker of a smile about the set lips. "Yes, I had some such impression.’’ he acquiesced grimly. "Why. they might have killed us!” Ihe (till went <m. "It is just bandy possible that they had some such absurd idea when they shot.” replied the Burglar. “Guess you never got caught in a pickle like this before ?” "I certainly never did!” replied the Girl empha t iea I ly. The wliir and grind of their car drowned other sounds —sounds from behind l»; I from time to time the Burglar looked back, and from time to time he let out a new notch in the speed-regula tor. Already tin* pace was terrific, and the (till bounced up ami down beside him at each trivial i r regularity in the road, while she (dung frantically to the seat. "Is it necessary to go so awfully fast ?” she gasped at last. The wind was heating on her face. her mask blew this way ami that: the beribboned sombrero < lung frantically to a fast falling strand of ruddy hair. She clutched at the hat and saved it. but her hair tumbled down about her shoulders, a mass of gobi. ami floated out behind. "Oh.” she chattered. "I can’t keep my ha t on ! ” dhe Burglar took another quick look behind, then his foot went out against the speed regulator ami the car tairly hpt with suddenly increased impetus. The regulator was in the last notch now. and tin* car was one that had raced at ( trmoiid Beach. "(Hi dear!” exclaimed the Girl again. "( an’t you go a little slower'.'" "Look behind.” directed the Burglar 1 ersely. She glanced back and gave a little er\. Two giant eyes stared at her from a few hundred yards away as another car swooped along in pursuit, and behind this ominously glittering pair was still another. "They’re < basing u>. aren’t they?” "'rhe\ are." replied the Burglar grim |\. "but. if the-e t vies hold, t he\ haven’l got a (•bailee. \ bre ikdowil would He didn’t finish the sentence. There was a sinister note in his voice, but the (till was still looking back and did not hee<! it. To her excited imagination, it

seemed that the giant eyes behind were creeping up, and again she clutched the Burglar’s arm. "Don’t do that, I say!” he commanded again. "But. Dick, they mustn’t catch us — they mustn’t!” "They won’t.” "But if t.»ey should ” "They’ won’t,” he repeated. "It would be perfectly awful!” "Worse than that.” For a time the Girl silently watched him bending over the wheel, and a singular feeling of security came to her. Then the car swept around a bend in the road, careening perilously, and the glaring exes were lost. She breathed more freely. "I never knew you handled an auto so well.” she said admiringly. "I do lots of things people don’t know I do.” he replied. "Are those lights still there Y” "No, thank goodness!”

The Burglar touched a lever with his left hand, ami the whir of the machine became less pronounced. After a moment it began to slow down. The Girl noticed it, and looked at him with new apprehension. "Oh, we’re stopping!” she exclaimed. "I know it.” They’ ran on for a few hundred feet; then the Burglar set the brake, and, after a deal of jolting, the car stopped. He leapt out and ran around behind. As the Girl watched him uneasily' there came a sudden crash, ami the auto trembled a little. "What is it?” she asked quickly. ”1 smashed that tail lamp,” he answered. “They can see it, and it’s too easy for them to follow.” He stamped on the shattered fragments in the road, then came around to the side to climb in again, extending his left hand to tlie Girl. “Quick, give me your hand,” he requested.

She did so wonderingly, and he pulled himself into the seat beside her with a perceptible effort. The car shivered, then started on again, slowly at first, but gathering speed each moment. The Girl was staring at her companion curiously', anxiously. ‘•Are you hurt?” she asked at last. He did not answer at the moment, not until the car had regained its former speed and was hurtling headlong through the night. AMy right arm’s out of business,” he explained briefly—then: “I got that second bullet in the shoulder.” "On, Dick, Dick!” she exclaimed, “and you hadn’t said anything about it! You need assistance!” A sudden rush of sympathy’ caused her to lay her hands again on his left arm. He shook u.em oft’ roughly, with something like anger in his manner. "Don’t do that!” he commanded for the third time. "Y'ou’ll make me smash this car.” Startled by the violence of his tone, she recoiled dumbly, and the car swept on. As before, the Burglar looked back from time to time, but the lights did not reappear. For a long time the Girl was silent, and finally' he glanced at her. “1 beg your pardon.” he said humbly. "1 didn’t mean to speak so sharply, but—but it’s true.” “It’s really' of no consequence,” she replied coldly'. “1 am sorry —very “Thank you,” he replied. “Perhaps it might be as well for you to stop the car and lot me out,” she went on after a moment. The Burglar either didn’t hear or wouldn’t heed. The dim lights of a small village rose up before them, then faded away again; a dog barked lonesomely beside the road. The streaming lights of their car revealed a tangle of cross-roads just ahead, offering a definite method of shaking off pursuit. Their car swerved widely, and the Burglar's attention was centred on the road ahead. "Does your arm pain you?” asked the Girl at last, timidly. “No,” he replied shortly. “It’s a sort of numbness. I’m afraid I'm losing blood, though.” "Hadn't we better go back to the village and see a doctor?” “Not this evening,” he responded promptly in a tone which she did not understand. “I’ll stop somewhere soon and bind it up. At last, when the village was well behind. the car came to a dark little road which wandered off aimlessly through a wood, and the Burglar slowed down to turn into it. Once in the shelter of the overhanging branches they proceeded slowly for a hundred yards or more, finally’ coming to a standstill. “We must do it here,” he declared. He leapt from the car, stumbled, and fell. In an instant the Girl was beside him. The reflected light from the auto showed her dimly that he was trying to rise, showed her the pallor of his face whore the chin below the mask was visible. “I'm afraid it's pretty bad,” he said. Then he fainted. The Girl, stooping, raised his head to

her lap and pressed her lips to his feverishly, time after time. “Dick, Dick!” she sobbed, and tears fell upon the Burglar’s sinister mask. 11. When the Burglar awoke to consciousness he was as near Heaven as any mere man ever dares expect to be. He was comfortable —quite comfortable—wrapped in a delicious, languorous lassitude which forbade him opening his eyes to realisation. A woman’s hand lay on his forehead, caressingly, and dimly he knew that another hand cuddled cozily in one of his own. He lay still, trying to remember, before he opened his eyes. Some one beside him breathed ' softly, and he listened, as if to music. Gradually the need of action—just what action and to what purpose did not

occur to him —impressed itself on his mind. He raised one hand to his face, and touched the mask which had been pushed back on his forehead. Then he recalled the ball, the shot, the chase, the hiding in the woods. He opened his eyes w a start. Utter darkness lay about him—for a moment he was not certain whether it was the darkness of blindness or of night. “Dick, are you awake!” asked the Girl softly. He knew the voice, and was content. “Yes,” he answered languidly. He closed his eyes again, and some strange, subtle perfume seemed to envelop him. He waited. Warm lips were pressed to his own, thrilling him strangely, and the Girl rested a soft eheek against his. “We have been very foolish, Dick,” she said, sweetly chiding, after a moment. “It was all my fault for letting you expose yourself to danger, but I didn’t dream of such a thing as this happening. I shall never forgive myself, because—” “But ” he began, protestingly. “Not another word about it now,” she hurried on. “We must go very soon. How do you feel?” “I’m all right, or will be in a minute,” he responded, and he made as if to rise. “Where is the car?” “Right here. I extinguished the lights and managed to stop the engine for fear those horrid people who were after us might notice.” “Good girl!” “When you jumped out and fainted I jumped out, too. I’m afraid I was not very clever, but I managed to bind your arm. I took my handkerchief and pressed it against the wound after ripping your coat, then I bound it there. It stopped the flow of blood, but, Dick dear, you must have medical attention just as soon as possible.” The Burglar moved his shoulder a little and -winced. “Just as soon as I did that,” the Girl went on, “I made you comfortable here on a cushion from the car.” “Good girl!” he said again. “Then I sat down to wait until you

got better. I had no stimulant or anything, and 1 didn’t dare to leave you, so —so I just waited,” she ended with a weary little sigh. “How long was I knocked out!” he queried. "1 don't know; half an hour, perhaps.” “The bag is all right, 1 suppose?” “The bag?” “The bag with the stuff—the one I threw in the car when we started ?” “Oh, yes, 1 suppose so! Really, I hadn’t thought of it.” “Hadn’t thought of it ?” repeated the Burglar, and there was a trace of astonishment in his voice. “By George, you’re a wonder!” he added. He started to get on his feet, then dropped hack wearily. “Say, girlie,” he requested, “see if you can find the bag in the ear there, and hand it out. Let’s take a look.” “Where is it ?” “Somewhere in front. I felt it at my feet when I jumped out.” There was a rustle of skirts in the darkness, and after a moment a faint, muffled clank as of one heavy metal striking dully against another. “Goodness!” exclaimed the Girl. “It’s heavy enough. What's in it ?” “What’s in it?” echoed the Burglar, and he chuckled. “A fortune, nearly. It’s worth being punctured for. Let me see!” In the darkness he took the bag from her hands and fumbled with it a moment. She heard the metallic sound again, and then several heavy objects were poured out on the ground. “A good fourteen pounds of pure gold,” commented the Burglar. “By George, I have but one match, but we’ll see what it’s nxe.”

The match was struck, sputtered for a moment, then flamed up, and the Girl, standing, looked down upon the Burglar on his knees beside a heap of gold plate. She stared at the glittering mass as if fascinated, and her eyes opened wide. “Why, Dick, what is that?” she asked.

“It’s Randolph’s plate,” responded the Burglar complacently. “I don’t know how much it is worth, but it must be several thousands, on dead weight.” “What are you doing with it ?” “What am 1 doing with it?” repeated the Burglar. He was about to look up, when the match burned his linger, and he dropped it. “That’s a silly question.” “But how came it in your possession?” the Girl insisted.

“I acquired it by the simple act of—of dropping it into a bag and bringing it along. That and you in the same evening ” He stretched out a hand toward her, but she was not there. He chuckled a little as he turned and picked up eleven plates, one by one, and replaced them in the bag. “Nine—ten—eleven.” he counted. “What luck did you have?” “Dick Herbert, explain to me, please, what you are doing with that gold plate?” There was an imperative command in the voice. The Burglar paused and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Oh. I’m taking it to have it fixed,” he responded lightly. “Fixed? Taking it this way, at this time of the night?” “Sure,” and he laughed pleasantly. “You mean you—you —you stole it?” The words came with an effort. “Well. I’d hardly call it that,” remarked the Burglar. “That’s a harsh word. Still, it’s in my possession; it wasn’t given to me. and I didn't buy it. You may draw your own conclusion.” The bag lay beside him. and his left hand caressed it idly, lovingly. “What luck did you have?” he asked again. There was accusing indignation in the Girl’s voice. “You—you stole it!” “Well, if you prefer it that way—yes.” The Burglar was staring steadily into the darkness toward that point whence came the voice, but the night was so dense that not a trace of the Girl was visible. “It seems to me it was lucky I decided to take it at just this time and in these circumstances,” he went on tauntingly—“lucky for you, I mean. If I hadn’t been there you would have been caught.” Again came the startled gasp. “What’s the matter ?” He was still peering unseeingly into the darkness. The bag of gold plate moved slightly under his hand. He opened bis fingers to close them more tightly. It was a mistake; his hand grasped—air.

“Stop that game now!” he commanded. He struggled to his feet. His answer was the crackling of a twig to his right. He started in that direction, and brought up with a bump against the automobile. He turned, still groping blindly, and embraced a tree with undignified fervour. To his left he heard another slight noise, and ran that way. Again he struck an obstacle. Then he began to say things—expressive things. The treasure had gone—disappeared into the shadows. The Girl was gone. He called; there was no answer. He drew his revolver fiercely, as if to fire it; then reconsidered and flung it down. “And I thought I had nerve!” he declared. It was a compliment. 111. Extravagantly brilliant the sun popped up out of the east—not an unusual occurrence — and stared unblinkingly down upon a country road. There were the usual twittering birds and dewspangled trees and nodding wild flowers; also a oust that was shoe top deep. The dawny air stirred lazily, and rustling leaves sent long, sinuous shadows scampering back and forth. Looking upon it without enthusiasm or poetic exaltation was a Girl —a pretty Girl—a very pretty Girl. She sat on a stone beside the yellow roadway, a picture of weariness. A rough burlap sack, laden heavily, yet economically as to space, wallowed in the dust beside her. Her hair was tawny gold, and rebellious, vagrant strands drooped listlessly about her face. A beribboned sombrero lay in her lap, supplementing a certain air of dilapidated bravado, due in part to a short skirt, heavy gloves anil boots, a belt with a knife and revolver.

A robin, perched impertinently on a stump across the road, examined her at his leisure. She stared back at Signor Redbreast, and for this recognition he warmed a little song. “I’ve a good mind to cry!” exclaimed the Girl suddenly. Shamed and startled, the robin flew away. A mistiness came into the Girl’s blue eyes, and lingered there a moment, then her white teeth closed tightly, and the glimmer of outraged emotion passed. “On,” she sighed again. “I’m so tired and hungry, and I just know I’ll never get anywhere at all!” But, despite the expressed conviction, she arose and straightened up, as if to resume her journey, turning to stare down at the bag. It was an unsightly symbol of blasted hopes, man’s perfidy, crushed aspirations, and—Heaven only knows what beside.

“I’ve a good mind to leave you right there,” she remarked to the bag spitefully. “Perhaps I might bide it.” She considered the question. “No, that wouldn’t do. I must take it with me, and—and —oh, Dick! Dick! What in the world was the matter with you, anywav!”

Then she sat down again and wept The robin crept back to look, and mod

estly hid behind a leaf. From this coign of vantage he watched her as she again rose and plodded off through the dust with the bag swinging over one shoulder. At last —there is an at last to everything—a small house appeared from behind a clump of trees. The Girl looked with incredulous eyes. It was really a house. Really! A tiny curl of smoke hovered over the chimney. "Well, thank goodness, I’m somewhere, anyhow,” she declared with her first show of enthusiasm. “I can get a cup of coffee or something.’’ She covered the next fifty yards with a new spring in her leaden heels, and with a new and firmer grip on the precious bag. Then—she stopped. “Gracious!” and perplexed lines suddenly wrinkled her brow. “If I should go in there with a pistol and knife they’d think 1 was a brigand—or—or a thief, and I suppose I am,” she added as she stopped and rested the bag on the ground. “At least, I have stolen goods in my possession. Now, what shall I say. What am I? They wouldn’t believe me if I told them. Short skirt, boots and gloves—l know! I’m a bicyclist. My wheel broke down, and —” Whereupon she gingerly removed the revolver from her belt and flung it into the underbrush—not at all in the direefion she had intended—and the knife followed to keep it company. Having relieved herself of these sinister things, she straightened her hat. pushed back the rebellious hair, yanked at her skirt, and walked bravely up to the little house. An Angel lived there —an Angel in a dizzily beflowered wrapper and a crabbed exterior. She listened to a rapidly constructed and wholly inconsistent story of a bicycle accident, which ended with a plea for a cup of coffee. Silently she proceeded to prepare it. After the pot was bubbling cheerfully and eggs had been put on and biscuits thrust into a stove to be warmed over, the Angel sat down at the table opposite the Girl. “Book agent?” she asked. “Oh, no!” replied the Girl. “Sewing machines ?” “No.” There was a pause as the Angel settled and poured a cup of coffee. “Make to order, I s’pose?” “No,” the Girl replied uncertainly. “What do you sell?” “Nothing. I —l ” She stopped. “What you got in the bag?” the Angel persisted. “Some — some — just some—stuff,” stammered the Girl, and her face suddenly flushed crimson. “What kind of stuff?” The Girl looked into the frankly inquisitive eyes, and was overwhelmed by a sense of her own helplessness. Tears started, and one pearly drop ran down her perfect nose and splashed into the eoffee. That was the last straw. She leaned forward suddenly and wept. “Please, please don’t ask questions!” she pleaded. “I’m a poor, foolish, misguided, disillusioned woman!” “Yes’m,” said the Angel. She cook up the eggs, then came over amt put a

kindly arm about the Girl's shoulders. “There, there!” she said soothingly. “Don’t taKe on like that! Drink some coffee and eat a bite, and you'll feet better.” “1 have had no sleep at all and no food since yesterday, and I’ve walked miles and miles. - ’ the Girl rushed on feverishly. "It’s all because—because ’’ She stoppea suddenly. “Eat something.’’ commanded the Angel. The Girl obeyed. The coffee was weak and muddy and delightful; the biscuits were yellow and lumpy and delicious; the eggs were eggs. The Angel sat opposite and watched the Girl as she ate. “Husband beat you’’’ she demanded suddenly. The Girl blushed and nearly choked on a biscuit. “No,” she hastened to say. “I have no husband.” “Well, there ain’t no serious trouble in this world till you marry a man that beats you.” said the Angel judicially. It was the final word. The Girl didn’t answer, and in view of the fact that she had sufficient data at hand to argue the point, this repression required heroism. Perhaps she will never get credit for it. She finished the breakfast in silence, and leaned back with some measure of returning content in her soul. “In a hurry’” asked the Angel. “No. I have no place to go. What is the nearest village or town?” “Watertown: but you’d better stay and rest a while. You look all tuckered out.” “Oh. thank you so much,” said the Girl gratefully. “But it would be so much trouble for ” The Angel picked up the burlap bag. shook it inquiringly, then started toward the short stairs leading up. “Please, please!” exclaimed the Girl suddenly. “I—l—let me have that, please! ” The Angel relinquished the bag without a word. The Girl took it tremblingly. then, suddenly dropping it. clasped the Angel in her arms and placed upon her unresponsive lips a kiss for which a mere man would have given worlds. The Angel wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and went up the stairs, with the Girl following. For a time the Girl lay. with wet eyes, on a clean little bed. thinking. Humiliation. exhaustion, man’s perfidy, disillusionment. and the kindness of an utter stranger all occupied her until she fell asleep. Then she was chased by a policeman with automobile lights for eyes, and there was a parade of hard-boiled eggs and yellow, lumpy biscuits. When she awoke the room was quite dark. She sat up. a little bewildered at first; then she remembered. After a moment she heard the voice of the Angel below. It rippled on querulously; then she heard the voice of a man: “Diamond rings ?” The Girl sat up in bed and listened intently. Involuntarily her hands were clasped together. Her rings were still safe. The Angel’s voice went on for a moment again. “Something in a bag?” inquired the man. Again the Angel spoke. Terror seized upon the Girl; imagination ran riot, and she rose from the bed. trembling. She groped about the dark room, noiselessly. Every shadow lent her new fears. Then from below came the sound of heavy footsteps. She listened fearfully. They came on, then paused. A match was struck, and the step sounded on the stairs. After a moment there was a knock at the door, a pause, then another knock. Finally the door was pushed open, and a huge figure—the figure of a man—appeared, sheltering a candle with one hand. He peered about the room. “Ain’t nobody up here,” he called gruffly down the stairs. There was a sound of hurrying footsteps. ami the Angel entered, her face distorted by the flickering candlelight. “For the land’s sakes!” she exclaimed. “Went away without even saying thank you.” grumbled the man. He crossed the room and closed a window. “You ain’t got no better sense than a chicken,” he told the Angel. “Take in anybody that comes.” IV. If Willie’s little brother hadn’t had a pain in u.s tummy this story might have gone by other and devious ways to a different conclusion. But fortunately

he did have, so it happened that at precisely 8.47 o’clock of a warm evening Willie was racing madly along a side street of Waterton. drug-store-bound, when he came face to face with a Girl—a pretty Girl—a very pretty Girl. She was carrying a bag that clanked a little at each step. “Oh. little bov!” she called.

“Hunh ?” and Wilne stopped so suddenly that he endangered his equilibrium. although that isn’t how he would have said it. “Nice little boy,” said the Girl soothingly, and she patted his tousled head while he gnawed a thumb in pained embarrassment. “I’m very tired. I have been walking a great distance. Could you tell me, please, where a lady, unattended. might get a night’s lodging somewhere near here ?” "Hunh?” gurgled Willie through the thumb.

Wearily the Girl repeated it all, and at its end Willie giggled. It was the most exasperating incident of a long series of exasperating incidents, and the Girl's grip on the bag tightened a little. Willie never knew how nearlv he came

to being hammered to death with several pounds of solid gold. “Well?” inquired the Girl at last. “Dunno,” said Willie. “Jimmy’s got the stomach-ache,” he added irrelevantly.

“Can’t you think of an hotel or board-ing-house near by?” the Girl insisted. “Dunno,” replied Willie. “I’m going to the drug store for a pair o’ gorrick.” The Giri bit her lip. and that act probably saved Willie from the dire consequences of his unconscious levity, for after a moment the Girl laughed aloud. “Where is the drug-store?” she asked. “Round the corner. I’m going.” “I’ll go along, too, if you don’t mind.” the Girl said, and she turned and walked beside him. Perhaps the drug clerk would be able to illuminate the situation.

“I swallyed a peny oncet,” Willie con tided suddenly. “Too bad!” commented the Girl.

“Unh unnh!” Willie denied emphatically. “ ’Cause when I cried. Paw gimme a quarter.” He was silent a moment, then, “If I’d swallyed that I reckin he’d a gimme a dollar. Gee!” This is the optimism that makes the world go round. The philosophy took

possession of the Girl and cheered her. When she entered the drugstore she walked with a lighter step, and there was the trace of a smile about her pretty inouth. A clerk, the only attendant, came forward. “I want a pair o' gorriek,” Willie announced. The Girl smiled, and the clerk, paying no attention to the boy, went toward her. “Better attend to him first,” she suggested. “It seems urgent.” The clerk turned to Willie. “Paregoric?” he inquired. “How much ?” “About a quart, I reckon,” replied the boy. “Is that enough?” “Quite enough,” commented the clerk. He disappeared behind the prescription screen, and returned after a moment with a small phial. The boy took it, handed over a coin, and went out, whistling. The Girl looked after him with a little longing in her eyes. “Now, madam?” inquired the clerk suavely. “I onlv want some information.” she

replied. “I was out on my bicycle”— she gulped a little—“when it broke down, and I’ll have to remain here in town over night, I’m afraid. Can you direct me to a quiet hotel or boardinghouse where I might stay?” “Certainly,” replied the elerk briskly. “The Stratford, just a block up this street. Explain the circumstances, and it will be all right, I’m sure.” The Girl smiled at him again, and cheerfully went her way. That small boy had been a leaven to her drooping spirits. She found the Stratford without difficulty, and told the usual bicycle lie, with a natural growth of detail and a burning sense of shame. She registered as Elizabeth Carlton, and was shown to a modest little room.

Her first aet was to hide the gold plate in the closet; her second was to take it out and hide it under the bed. Then she sat down on a couch to think. For an hour or more she considered the situation in all its hideous details, planning her desolate future—women like to plan desolate futures—then her eye chanced to fall upon an afternoon paper, which, with glaring headlines, announced the theft of the Randolph gold plate. She read it. It told, with

startling detail, things that had and had not happened in connection therewith. This comprehended in all its horror, she promptly arose and hid the bag between the mattress and the springs. Soon , after she extinguished the light and retired with little shivers running up and down all over her. She snuggled her head down under the cover. She didn’t sleep much—she was still thinking—but, when she arose next morning, her mind was made up. First, she placed the eleven gold plates in a heavy cardboard box, then she bound it securely with brown paper and twine and addressed it: “Stuyvesant Randolph, Seven Oaks, via Merton.” She had sent express packages before, and knew how to proceed, therefore, when the necessity of writing a name in the upper left-hand corner appeared —the sender—she wrote in a bold, desperate hand: “John Smith, Watertown.” \\ hen this was all done to her satisfaction. she tucked the package under one arm, tried to look as if it weren't heavy, and sauntered downstairs with outward self-possession and inward apprehension. She faced the clerk cordially, with a singularly distracting smile curled her lips. “Aly bill, please?” she asked. “Two dollars, madam,” he responded gallantly. “I don’t happen to have any money with me,” she explained charmingly, “Of course, I had expected to go baek on my wheel, but, since it is broken, perhaps you will be willing to take this until I return to the city and ean mail a cheque?” She drew a diamond ring from an aristocratic finger, and offered it to the clerk. He blushed furiously, and she reproved him for it with a cold stare. "It’s quite irregular,” he explained; “but, of course, in the circumstances, it will be all right. It is not necessary for us to keep the ring at all, if you will give us your city address.” “I prefer that you keep it,” she insisted firmly, “for, besides, I shall have to ask you to let me have fare baek to the city—a couple of dollars? Of course it will be all right ?” It was half an hour before the elerk fully awoke. He had given the Girl two real dollars, and held her ring clasped firmly in one hand. She was gone. She might just as well have taken the hotel along with her so far as any objection from that elerk would have been concerned. Once out of the hotel the Girl hurried on. “Thank goodness, that’s over,” she exclaimed. For several blocks she walked on. Finally her eye was attracted by a “To Let” sign on a small house—it was No. 410. State-street. She walked in through a gate cut in the solid wall of stone and strolled up to the house. Here she wandered about for a time, incidentally tearing off the “To Let” sign. Then she came down the path toward the street again. Just inside the stone fence she left her express package, after scribbling the name of the street on it with a pencil. A dollar bill lay on top. She hurried out and along a block or more to a small grocery. “Will you please ’phone to the express company and have them send a waggon to No. 410, State-street, for a package?” she asked sweetly of a heavy-voiced grocer. “Certainly, ma’am,” he responded with alacrity. She paused until he had done as she requested, then dropped into a restaurant for a cup of coffee. She lingered there for a long time, and then went out to spend a greater part of the day wandering up and down State-street. At last an express waggon drove up, the driver went in, and returned after a little while with the package. “And, thank goodness, that’s off my hands!” sighed the Girl. “Now I’m going home.” Late that evening, Saturday, Afiss Dollie Aleredith returned to the home of the Greytons, and was clasped to the motherly bosom of Airs. Greyton, where she wept unreservedly. V. It was late Sunday afternoon. Hutchinson Hatch did not run lightly up the steps of the Greyton home and toss his cigar away as he rang the bell. He did go up the steps, but it was reluctantly, dragging one foot after the other,

this being an indication rather of his mental condition than of physical weariness. He did not throw away his cigar as he rang the bell because he wasn’t smoking—but he did ring the bell. The maid whom he had seen on his previous visit opened the door. “Is Mrs. Greyton in!” he asked with a nod of recognition. “No, sir.” "Mr. Greyton?” “No, sir.” “Did Mr. Meredith arrive from Baltimore ?” “Yes, sir. Last midnight.” “Ah! Is he in?” “No, sir.” The reporter’s disappointment showed clearly in his face. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything further from Miss Meredith?” he ventured hopelessly. “She’s upstairs, sir.” Anyone who has ever stepped on a tack knows just how Hatch felt. He didn’t stand on the order of being invited in—he went in. Being in, he extracted a plain calling card from his pocketbook with twitching fingers, and handed it to the waiting maid. “When did.she return?” he asked. “Last night, about nine, sir.” “Where has she been!” “I don’t know, sir.” “Kindly hand her my card, and explain to her that it is imperative that I see her for a few minutes,” the reporter went on. “Impress upon her the absolute necessity of this. By the way, I suppose you know where I came from, eh !” “Police headquarters, yes, sir.”

Hatch tried to look like a detective, hut a gleam of intelligence in his face almost betrayed him.

“You might intimate as much to Miss Meredith,” he instructed the maid ealralv.

The maid disappeared. Hatch went in and sat down in the reception-room, and said “Whew! ” several times.

“The gold plate returned to Randolph last night by express,” he mused, “and she returned also, last night. Now, what does that mean?”

After a minute or so the maid reappeared to state that Miss Meredith would see him. Hatch received the message gravely, and beckoned mysteriously as he sought for a bill in his pocketbook. "Do you have any idea where Miss Meredith was?” “No, sir. She didn’t even tell Mrs. Greyton or her father.” “What was her appearance?” “She seemed very tired, sir, and hungry. She still wore the masked ball costume.” The bill changed hands, and Hatch was left alone again. There was a long wait, then a rustle of skirts, a light step, and Miss Dollie Meredith entered. She was nervous, it is true, and pallid, but there was a suggestion of defiance as well as determination on her pretty mouth. Hatch stared at her in frank admiration for a moment, then, -with an effort, proceeded to business. “I presume, Miss Meredith,” he said solemnly, “that the maid informed you of my identity?” “Yes,” replied Dollie weakly. “You are a detective.” “Ah!” exclaimed the reporter meaningly, “then we understand each other. Now, Miss Meredith, will you tell me, please, just where you have been?” No.” The answer was so prompt and so emphatic that Hatch was a little disconcerted. He cleared his throat and started over again. “Will you inform me, then, in the interests of justice, where you were on the evening of the ball ?” An ominous threat lay behind the words, Hatch hoped she believed. “I will not.” “Why did you disappear?” “I will not tell you.” natch paused to readjust himself. He was going at things backward. When next he spoke his tone had lost the official tang —he talked like a human being. “May I ask if you happen to know Richard Herbert?” The pallor of the girl’s face was relieved by a delicious sweep of colour. “I will not tell you,” she answered. “And if I say that Mr. Herbert happens to be a friend of mine!” “Well, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!” Two distracting blue eyes were staring him out of countenance; two scarlet lips were drawn tightly together in reproof

of a man who boasted such a friendship; two cheeks Hamed with indignation that he should have mentioned the name. Hatch floundered for a moment, then cleared his throat, and took a fresh start. “Will you deny that you saw Richard Herbert on the evening of the masked ball?” “I will not.” “Will you admit that you saw him?” “I will not.” “Do you know that he was wounded?” “Certainly.” Now, Hatch had always held a vague theory that the easiest way to make a secret known was to intrust it to a woman. At this point he revised his draw; threw his hand in the pack and asked for a new deal. “Miss Meredith,” he said soothingly, “will you admit or deny that you ever heard of the Randolph robbery?” “I will not,” she began, then: “Cer tainly I know of it.” "You know that a man and a woman are accused of and sought for the theft!” “Yes, I know that.” “You will admit that you know the man was in Burglar’s garb, and that the woman was dressed in a Western costume!” “The newspapers say that, yes,” she replied sweetly. “You know, too, that Richard Herbert went to that ball in Burglar’s garb, and that you went there dressed as a Western Girl?” The reporter's tone was strictly professional now. Dollie stared into the stern face of her interrogator, and her courage oozed away. The colour - left her face, and she wept violently. "I beg your pardon,” Hatch expostulated. “I beg your pardon. I didn't mean it just that way, but ’’ He stopped helplessly and stared at this wonderful woman with the red hair. Of all things in the world, tears were quite the most disconcerting. “I beg your pardon,” he repeated awkwardly. Dollie looked up with tear-stained, pleading eyes, then arose and placed both her Hands on Hatch’s arm. It was a pitiful, helpless sort of a gesture; Hatch shuddered with sheer delight. “I don’t know how you found out about it,” she said tremulously, “but if you’ve come to arrest me, I’m ready to go with you.” “Arrest you!” gasped the reporter. “Certainly. I’ll go and be locked up. That’s what they do, isn’t it ?” she questioned innocently. The reporter stared. “I wouldn’t arrest you for a million dollars!” he stammered in dire confusion. “It wasn’t quite that. It was —” And five minutes later Hutchinson Hatch found himself wandering aimlessly up and down the sidewalk. VI. Dick Herbert lay stretched lazily on a couch in his room with hands pressed to his eyes. He had just read the Sunday newspapers, announcing the mysterious return of the Randolph plate, and naturally he had a headache. Somewhere in a remote recess of his brain mental pyrotechnics were at play; a sort of intellectual pin-wheel spouted senseless ideas and suggestions of senseless ideas. The late afternoon shaded off into twilight, twilight into dusk, dusk into darkness, and still he lay motionless. After a while, from below, he heard the tinkle of a bell, and Blair entered with light tread: “Beg pardon, sir, are you asleep?” “Who is it, Blair?” “Mr. Hatch, sir.” “Let him come up.” Dick arose, snapped on the electric lights, and stood blinkingly in the sudden glare. When Hatch entered they faced each other silently for a moment. There was that in the reporter’s eyes that interested Dick immeasurably; there was that in Dick’s eyes that Hatch was trying vainly to fathom. Dick relieved a certain vague tension by extending his left hand. Hatch shook it cordially. “Well?” Dick inquired. Hatch dropped into a chair and twirled his hat. “Heard the news ?” he asked. “The return of the gold plate, yes,” and Dick passed a hand across his fevered brow. “It makes me dizzy.” "Heard anything from Miss Meredith?” “No. Why ?”

She returned to the Greytons last night.”

"■Returned to the ” and Diek started up suddenly. "Well, there’s no reason why she shouldn't have,’’ he added. “Do you happen to know where she was?”

The reporter shook his head. “I don’t know anything,” he said wearily, “except ” He paused. Dick paced back and forth across the room several times with one hand pressed to his forehead. Suddenly he turned on his visitor.

“Except what!” he demanded. “Except that Miss Meredith, by action and word, has convinced me that she either had a hand in the disappearance of the Randolph plate, or else knows who was the cause of its disappearance.” Dick glared at him savagely. “You know she didn’t take the plate?” he demanded.

“Certainly,” replied the reporter; “and that’s what makes it all the more astonishing. I talked to her this afternoon, and when I finished she seemed to think I had come to arrest her, and she wanted to go to gaol. I nearly fainted.” Diek glared incredulously, then resumed his nervous pacing. Suddenly he stopped. “Did she mention my name?” “I mentioned it. She wouldn’t admit even that she knew you.” There was a pause. “I don’t blame her,” Dick remarked enigmatically. “She must think me a cad.” Another pause. “Well, what about it all, anyhow?” Diek went on finally. “The plate has been returned, therefore the matter is at an end.” “Now, look here, Dick,” said Hatch. “I want to say something, and don’t go crazy, please, until I finish. I know an awful lot about this affair —things the police never will know. I haven’t printed anything much, lor obvious reasons.” Dick looked at him apprehensively. “Go on.” he urged. “I could print things I know,” the reporter resumed; swear out a warrant for you in connection with the gold plate affair and have you arrested and convicted on your own statements, supplemented by those of Miss Meredith. Yet, remember, please, neither your name nor hers has been mentioned as yet.” Diek took it calmly; he only stared. “Do you believe that I stole the plate?” he asked. “Certainly I do not,” replied Hatch, “but I can prove that you did; prove it to the satisfaction of any jury in the world, and no denial of yours would have any effect.” “Well ?’’ asked Dick, after a moment. “Further, I can, on information in my possession, swear out a warrant for Miss Meredith, prove she was in the automobile, and convict her as your accomplice. Now, that’s a silly state of affairs, isn’t it?” “But, man, you can’t believe that she had anything to do with it! She’s — she’s not that kind.” “I could take oath that she didn’t have anything to do with it, but all the same I can prove that she did,” replied Hatch. “Now, what I am getting at is this: if the police should happen to find out what I know, they would send you up—both of you.” “Well, you are decent about it, old man, and I appreciate it,” said Dick warmly. “But what can we do ?” “It behoves us—Miss Meredith and you and myself—to get the true facts in the case all together before you get pinched,” said the reporter judicially. “Suppose now, just suppose, that we three get together and tell each other the truth for a change, the whole truth, and see what will happen?” “If I should tell you the truth,” said Dick dispassionately, “it would bring everlasting disgrace on Miss Meredith, and I’d be a beast for doing it; if she told you the truth, she would unquestionably send me to prison for theft.” “But here ” Hatch expostulated. “Just a minute!” Dick disappeared into another room, leaving the reporter to chew on what he had, then returned in a little while, dressed for the street. “Now, Hatch,” he said, “I’m going to try to get to Miss Meredith, but I don’t believe she’ll see me. h she will, I may be able to explain several things that will clear up this affair in your mind, at any rate. If I don’t see her . By the way, did her father arrive from Baltimore?” “Yes.”

“Good!” exclaimed Diek. “I’ll see him, too—make a show down of it, and when it’s all over I’ll let vou know what happened.” Hatch went back to his shop, and threatened to kick the office boy into the waste basket. At just about that moment Mr. Meredith, in the Greyton home, was reading a card on which appeared the name, "Mr. Richard Hamilton Herbert.” Having read it. he snorted his indignation, and went into the reception-room. Diek arose to greet him. and offered a hand which was promptly declined. “I’d like to ask you. Mr. Meredith.” Diek, began with a certain steely coldness in his manner, “just why you object to my attentions to your daughter Dorothy ?” "You know well enough!” raged the old man. "It is because of the trouble 1 had in Harvard with your son Harry. Well and good, but is that all? Is that to stand for ever!” “Y’ou proved then that you were not a gentleman,” declared the old man savagely. “You’re a puppy, sir!” "If you didn’t happen to be the father of the girl I’m in love with, I'd poke you in the nose,” Dick replied, almost cheerfully. “Where is your son now? is there no way I can place myself right in your eyes?” “No!” Mr. Meredith thundered. “Au apology would only be a confession of your dishonour!” Diek was nearly choking, but managed to keep his voice down. "Does your daughter know anything of that affair!” “Certainly not.” “Where is your son?” “None of your business, sir!” “I don’t suppose there’s any doubt in your mind of my affection for your daughter?” “I suppose you do admire her,” snapped the old man. “Y’ou can’t help that, I suppose. No one can,” he added naively. “And I suppose you know that she loves me, in spite of your objections?” went on the voting man. “Bah! Bah!” “And that you are breaking her heart by your mutton-headed objection to me!” "You—you ” sputtered Mr. Meredith. Diek was still ealm. “May I see Miss Meredith for a few minutes?” he went on. “She won’t see you, sir,” stormed the irate parent. “She told me last night that she would never consent to see you again.” “Will you give me your permission to see lier here and now, if she will consent ?” Dick insisted steadily. “She won’t see you, I say.” “May I send a card to her?” “She won’t see you, sir,” repeated Mr. Meredith doggedly. Diek stepped out into the hall and beckoned to the maid. “Please take my card to Miss Meredith,” he directed. The maid accepted the white square with a little uplifting of her brows, and went up the stairs. Miss Meredith received it languidly, read it, then sat up indignantly. “Dick Herbert!” she exclaimed incredulously. “How dare he come here? It’s the most audacious thing I ever heard of! Certainly I will not see him again in any circumstances.” She arose and glared defiantly at the demure maid. “Tell Mr. Herbert,” she said emphatically, “tell him—that I’ll be right down.” VII. • H Mr. Meredith had stamped out of the room angrily, and Dick Herbert was alone when Dollie, in regal indignation, swept in. The general slant of her ruddy head radiated defiance, and a most depressing chilliness lay in her blue eyes. Her lips formed a scarlet line, and there was a how-dare-you-sir tilt to nose and chin. Dick started up quickly at her appearance. “Dollie!” he exclaimed, eagerly. “Mr. Herbert,” she responded coldly. She sat down primly on the extreme edge of a chair which yawned to embrace her. ’ “What is it, please?” Dick was a singularly audacious sort of person, but her manner froze him to sudden austerity. He regarded her steadily for a moment. “1 have come to explain why ”

Miss Dollie Meredith sniffed.

“I have come to explain," lie went on, “why I did not meet you at the Randolph masked ball as w had planned." “Why you did not meet me?” inquired Dollie coldly, with a little surprised movement of her arched brows. "Why you did not meet met” she repeated.

"1 shall have to ask you to believe that, in the circumstances, it was absolutely impossible,” Dick continued, preferring to notice tne singular emphasis of her words. “Something occurred early that evening which—which left me no choice in the matter. I can readily understand your indignation and humiliation at my faiure to appear, and I had no way of reaching you that evening or since. News of your return last night only reached me an hour ago. 1 knew you had disappeared.” Dollie’s blue eyes were opened to the widest and her lips parted a little in astonishment. For a moment she sat thus, staring at the young man, then she sank baek into her chair with a little gasp.

"May I inquire,” she asked, after she recovered her breath, “the cause of this —this levity?”

“Dollie, dear, I am perfectly serious,” Dick assured her earnestly. "I am trying to make it plain to yon, that’s all.”

"Why you did not meet me?” Dollie repeated again. “Why you did meet me! “And that’s-—that's what’s the matter with everything!” Whatnot surprise or other emotion Dick might have felt was admirably repressed. ‘■J thought perhaps there was some mistake somewhere,” he said at last. “Now, Dollie, listen to me. No, wait a minute, please. 1 did not go to the Randolph ball. You did. You eloped from that ball as you and I had planned in an automobile, but not with me. You went with some other man—the man who really stole the gold plate.” Dollie opened her mouth to exclaim, then shut it suddenly.

“Now, Just a moment, please,” pleaded Dick. "You spoke, to some other man under the impression that you were speaking to me. For a reason which does not appear now, he fed in with your plans. Therefore, you ran away with him —in the automobile that carried the gold plate. What happened after that I cannot even surmise. I only know that yoti are the mysterious woman who disappeared with the Burglar. Dollie gasped and nearly choked with her emotions. A flame of scarlet leaped into her face, and the glare of the blue eyes was pitiless.

"Mr. Herbert,” she said deliberately at last. “I don’t know whether youthink lam a fool or only a child. I know that no rational human being can accept that as true. I know I left Seven Oaks with you in the auto; I know you are the man who stole the gold plate; I know how you received the shot in your right shoulder; I know how you afterwards fainted from loss of blood; I know how I bound up your wound, and •—and —I know a lot of things else!”

The sudden rush ot words left her breathless for an instant. Dick listened quietly. He started to say something—to expostulate—but she got a fresh start and hurried on:

“I recognised you in that silly disguise by the cleft in your chin. I called you Dick, and you answered me. 1 asked if you had received the little casket, and you answered yes. 1 left the ballroom as you directed, and climbed into the automobile. 1 know that horrid ride we had, and how I took the gold plate in the bag and walked—walked through the night until I was exhausted. 1 know it all—how I lied and connived, and told silly stories—but I did it all to save you from yourself, and now you dare face me with a denial!” Dollie suddenly burst into tears. Dick now attempted no further denial. There was no anger in his face—only a deeplytroubled expression. He arose and walked over to the window, where he stood staring out. “I know it all,” Dollie repeated, gurglingly—“all, except what possible idea you had in stealing the miserable, wretched old plate, anyway!” There was a pause, and Dollie peered through teary fingers. “How—how long.” she asked, "have you been a —a —a—kleptomaniac?”

Dick shrugged his sturdy shoulders a little impatiently. “Did your father ever hap|>en to tell you why he objects to my attentions to you?” he asked. “No, but 1 know now.” And there was a new burst of tears. “It’s because —because you are a—a—you take things." “You will not believe what I tell you?” “How. can I when 1 helped you run away with the horrid stuff?” “If 1 pledge you my word of honour that I told you the truth?” “1 can’t believe it! I can’t!" wailed Dollie desolately. “No one could believe it. 1 never suspected—never dreamed—of the possibility of such a thing even when you lay wounded out there in the dark woods. If I had, I should certainly have never—have never—kissed you.” Dick wheeled suddenly. "Kissed me?” he exclaimed. “Yes, you horrid thing!” sobbed Dollie. “If there had previously been the slightest doubt in my mind as to your identity, that would have convinced me that it was you, because—because—just because! And besides, if it wasn’t you I kissed, you ought to have told me! ” Dollie leaned forward suddenly on the arm of the chair, with her face hidden in her hands. Dick crossed the room softly toward her and laid a hand caressingly about her shoulders. She shook it off. “How dare you, sir?” she blazed. “Dollie, you don’t love me?” he pleaded. “No! ” was the prompt reply. "But you did love me—once?” “Why—yes, but I—l ——” "And couldn’t you ever love me again ?” "I—l don’t ever want to again.” “But couldn't you?” “If you had only told me the truth, instead of making such a silly denial,” she blubbered. “I don’t know why you took the plate unless—unless it is because you —you couldn’t help it. But you didn’t tell me the truth.” Dick stared down at the ruddy head moodily for a moment. Then his manner changed, and he dropped on his knees beside her. “Suppose,” he whispered—“ Suppose I should confess that I did take it?” Dollie looked up suddenly with a new horror in her face. “Oh, you did do it then ?” she demanded. That was worse than ever! "Suppose that 1 should confess that I did ?” “Oh, Dick!" she sobbed. And her arms went suddenly around his neck. “You are breaking my heart. Why ? Why?” “Would you be satisfied ?” he insisted. “What could have caused you to do such a thing?” The love-light glimmered again in her blue eyes; the red lips trembled. “Suppose it had been just a freak of mine, and I had intended to—to return the stuff, as has been done?” he went on. Dollie stared deeply into the eyes upturned to hers. “Silly boy,” she said. Then she kissed him. “But you must never, never do it again?” “I never will,” he promised solemnly. Five minutes later Dick was leaving the house, when he met Mr. Meredith. “I’m going to marry your daughter,” he said quite calmly. Mr. Meredith raved at him as he went down the steps. VIII. Alone in her room, with the key turned in the lock, Miss Dollie Meredith had a perfectly delightful time. She wept and laughed and sobbed and shuddered; she was pensive and doleful and happy and melancholy; she dreamed dreams of the future, past and present; she sang foolish little ecstatic songs, and cried again copiously. Her father had sent to her room with a stern reprimand, and she giggled joyously as she remembered it. ‘Wfter all, it wasn't anything,” she assured herself. "It was silly for him to—to take the stuff, of course, but it’s back now, and he told me the truth, and he intended to return it, anyway.” In her present mood she would have justified anything. “And he's not a thief or anything. I don’t suppose father will ever give his consent; so, after all, we’ll have to elope, and that will be—perfectly delightful. Papa will go on dreadfully, and then he’ll be all right. After a while Dollie snuggled down in the sheets and lay quite still in the dark until sleep overtook her. Silence reigned

in the house. It was about two o’clock in the morning, when she sat up suddenly in l>ed with startled eyes. She had heard something—or rather in her sleep she had received the impression of hearing something. She listened intently as she peered about. Finally she did hear something—something tap sharply on the window once. 'Phen came silence again. A frightened chill ran all the way down, to Dome’s curling pink toes. There was a pause, and then again eanie the sharp click, whereupon Dollie pattered out of laid and ran to the window, which was open a few inches. With the greatest caution she peered out. Vaguely skulking in the shadows below she made out the figure of a man. As she looked it seemed to draw up into a knot, then straighten out quickly. Involuntarily she dodged. There camo another sharp click at the window. The man below was tossing pebbles against the pane with the obvious purpose of attracting her attention. “Dick, is that you?’* sne called cautiously. “Sh-h-h-h!” came the answer. “Here’s a note for you. Open the window’ so 1 may throw it in.” “Is it really and truly you?’* Dollie insisted. “Yes,” came the hurried, whispered answer. “Quick, some one is coming!” Dollie threw the sash up and stepped back. A whirling white object came through and fell noiselessly on the carpet. Dollie seized upon it eagerly, and ran to the window' again. Below she saw the retreating figure of a man. Other footsteps materialised in a bulky policeman, who strolled by, seeking, perhaps, a quiet spot for a nap. Shivering with excitement, Dollie closed the window’ and pulled down the shade, after which she lighted the gas. She opened the note eagerly, and sat down upon the floor to lead it. Now, a large part of this note was extraneous verbiage of a superlative emotional nature —its vital importance was an outline of a new’ plan of elopement, to take place on Wednesday in time for them to catch a European-bound steamer at half-past two in the afternoon. Dollie read and re-read the crumpled sheet many times, and when finally its wording had been indelibly fixed in her mind she w r asted an unbelievable number of kisses on it. Of course, this was sheer extrava ga nee. “He’s the dearest thing in the world!” she declared. She burned the note reluctantly and carefully disposed of the ashes by throwing them out of the window, after which she returned to her bed. On the following morning, Monday, father glared at daughter sternly as she demurely entered the breakfast-room. lie was seeking to read that which no man has over been able to read—a woman’s face. Dollie smiled upon him charmingly. After breakfast father and daughter had a little talk in a sunny corner of the librarv. “I have planned for us to return to Baltimore on next Thursday,’’ he informed her. “Oh, isn’t that delightful?*’ beamed Dollie. “In view' of everything and your broken promises to me—the promise not. to see Herbert again—I think it wisest,” he continued. “Perhaps it is,” she mused. “Why did you see him?”Jie demanded.

“1 consented to see him only to bid him good-bye/’ replied Dollie demurely, “and to make perfectly clear to him niy ]*oeition in thia matter.” Oh, woman! Perfidious, insincere, loyal, charming woman! All the tangled skeins of life are the work of your fin gers. All the sins and sorrows are your doing! Mr. Meredith rubbed bis chin thoughtfully. “You may take it as my wish—my order even,’’ he said, as he cleared his throat—for giving orders to Dollie was a dangerous experiment—“that you must not attempt to communicate in any way with Mr. Herbert again—by letter or otherwise.’’ “Yes, papa.” Mr. Meredith was somewhat surprised at the ease with which lie got away with this. Had he been blessed with a little more wisdom in the ways of women ho would have been suspicious. “You really do not love him, anyway,” he ventured at last. “It was only a girlish infatuation.** “1 told him yesterday just what I thought of him,” she re’diod truthfully enough. And thus the interview ended. It was about noon that day when Hutchinson Hatch called on Dick Herbert. “VVd!. what did you find out?” he inquired. “Really, old man,*’ said Dick kindly, “I have decided that there is nothing I can say to you about the matter. It's a private a flair, after “Yes, I know that, and you know that, but the police don’t know it,*'commented the reporter grimly. “ITie police!’* Dick smiled. “Did you see her?’’ Hatch asked. “Yes, I saw her—and her father, too.” Hatch saw’ the one door by which he had hoped to solve the riddle closing on him. “Was Miss Meredith the girl in the automobile?’’ “Really, I won’t answer that.” “Are you the man who stole the gold plate ?” “I won’t answer that, cither,’’ replied Dick smilingly. “Now, look here, Hatch, you’re a good fellow. I like you. It is your business to find out. things, but, in this particular affair, I'm going to make it my business to keep you from finding out things. I’ll risk the police end of it.” He went over and shook hands with the reporter cordially. “Believe me, if I told you the absolute truth—all of it —you couldn’t print it unless—unless 1 was arrested, and 1 don’t intend that that shall happen.” Hatch went away. That night the Randolph gold plate was stolen for the second time. Thirtysix hours later Detective Mallory arrested Richard Herbert with the stolen plate in his possession. Dick burst out laughing when the detective walked in on him. (To be continued.)