Evan made believe not to notice any change in Denton's manner. "Good morning," he said cheerfully.

Denton made no reply.

"What can I do to-day?" asked Evan.

Denton shook his head.

Evan affected to be greatly surprised. "Why, what's the matter?"

"I guess you know," the other said sorely.

The policeman stepped up. "Is this the guy as made trouble for you last trip?" he asked hoarsely.

Denton nodded.

The policeman turned self-righteously on Evan. "Say, fella, you'd ought to be ashamed of yourself! Don't you know no better than to make trouble for a charity!"

"You've got me wrong, officer," said Evan sweetly. "I didn't make any trouble. It was the other fellows made trouble for me!"

"Yes, they did!" was the scornful rejoinder. "That's what they all say! Well, they're running this show, see? And they don't want you. So beat it!"

Evan did not suppose that any charge would be pressed against him, but even if he were arrested and allowed to go, it would end the trip as far as he was concerned. He decided upon a strategic retreat. A new idea had occurred to him.

"That's all right, old fellow," he said indulgently. "Don't apologise." He turned to go.

The policeman turned a shade pinker than his wont. "Don't you get gay, young fella! I ain't apologising to the likes of you!"

"My mistake," said Evan, laughing over his shoulder. "Keep the change!"

As he passed out of hearing the blue-coat was saying sagely to Denton: "He's a bad one, all right. You can see it."

When Evan reached the shore end of the pier, he was cut off from the view of Denton and the policeman by a pile of freight which rose between. Unobserved by them, he made his way out on the next pier. This pier like its neighbour was occupied by craft of all kinds, canal-boats, lighters, scows, etc. Evan came to a stop opposite the Ernestina, and looked about him.

At his feet lay a large power-boat. She had a skiff tied to her rail. A burly harbourman, the skipper evidently, sat on the forward deck with his chair tipped back against the pilot-house and his hat pulled over his nose.

"How are you?" said Evan affably.

"How's yourself?" was the non-committal reply.

"I see you've got a skiff tied alongside," said Evan.

"Remarkable fine eyesight!" said the skipper ironically.

"I'll give you a dollar if you'll put me aboard that steamboat yonder."

"Why the Hell don't you walk aboard by the gangway?"

"Well, you see it's a kind of joke I want to put up on them. I want them to think they've gone off and left me, and then I'll show myself, see?"

"I never see nothing as don't concern me."

"I'll make it two dollars."

"I ain't running my head into no noose."

"Oh, I assure you it isn't a hanging matter."

"Nothin' doin', fella."

"Well, look here; you be looking the other way, and I'll take the skiff, see? Then you won't know anything about it. You can recover it with one of the other skiffs in the slip here."

"How do I know you won't make off down the river in my skiff?"

"All you've got to do is start your engine."

"Nothin' doin'!"

"You get the two dollars first of course."

The skipper let his chair fall forward and slowly rose. He looked past Evan. "Hey, Jake!" he cried to one on the pier. "Wait a minute! I got somepin' t' say to yeh." He stepped to the stringpiece.

Evan thought he had failed—until he saw a hand poked suggestively behind the skipper. Into it he hastily thrust two dollars. The skipper nonchalantly went his ways. Evan stepped aboard the power boat, skinned over the rail, and untied the skiff.

A few strokes of the oars brought him alongside the Ernestina. A steamboat of this type has a wide overhang bounded by a stout timber called the "guard." When Evan stood up in his skiff his shoulders were at the level of the guard. But as the ledge it made was only three inches wide and the gunwale rising above it provided no hand hold, it was a problem how to draw himself up.

He finally drew the skiff down to the paddle-box where the interstices of the gingerbread work enabled him to get a grip. As he pulled himself up he thrust the skiff away with his foot. He climbed back along the ledge to her stern gangway and vaulting over the rail found himself on the narrow deck encircling the stern, which is in marine parlance the "quarter."

All the business of the vessel was on the pier side, and this part was deserted. The sliding door leading to the entrance hall was closed and Evan took care to keep out of the range of vision of anyone who might look out through the panes. He determined to stay where he was until she got under way. A warning whistle had already been sounded. He made himself comfortable on a camp stool.

He chuckled to think of the sensation his appearance would cause. True, they might seize him and put him down in the hold again; they were strong enough. But at least this time they would not take him by surprise, and he doubted anyway if they would attack him before the children. Evan was strong with the children. It might precipitate a riot on board.

The Ernestina began to back out of the slip without anybody having stumbled on Evan's hiding-place. By this time the skipper of the power boat had recovered his skiff, and was watching Evan stolidly. Evan waved him a farewell.

Evan had no notion of risking all he had gained by venturing out too soon. He sat tight, entertaining himself as best he could with the unbeautiful panorama of Long Island City, Greenpoint (which is anything but green nowadays) and Williamsburgh. They had passed under the far-flung spans of the three bridges, rounded Governor's Island and headed down the Bay before he ventured to open the sliding door into the entrance hall.

At the moment there was no one in the hall who knew him, nor upon the stairway. He mounted unhindered. At the top he almost collided with Domville, the meekest of Corinna's brethren.

"How are you?" said Evan affably.

Little Domville stood as if rooted to the deck, his face a study in blank dismay. Then he turned without a sound, and scurried like a rabbit down the saloon and out on the after deck, presumably to spread the dreadful news. Evan chuckled.

Others in the saloon had recognised Evan. "Mister! Mister! Tell us a story! You know. About the robbers in the cave. They was just going to shoot Three-Fingered Pete for treachery!"

Evan reflected that he could hardly do better than take a leaf out of Corinna's book, and protect himself with a rampart of children. So he sat himself down and began, while they pressed close around:

"Well, Three-Fingered Pete was just about ready to give up when a shot was heard at the mouth of the cave, and a clear young voice cried, 'Hold! in the name of the U. S. cavalry!'"

The door to the after deck opened and Domville returned with Corinna and Dordess, the cynical one. Evan watched them without appearing to, and laughed inwardly at their amazed expressions. His heart beat fast at the sight of the red-haired girl. He told himself he hated her now—but perhaps hate can accelerate the pace of a heart too.

For a moment the three remained by the door in consultation, then Corinna and Domville went out on deck again, while Dordess came down the saloon, not towards Evan but on the other side. Evan was not going to let him pass in silence.

"How are you?" he called cheerfully.

Dordess sent him an ironical and courteous greeting. He had more savoir faire than the younger males of Corinna's family. He passed out of sight behind the engine trunk.

"Gone to get the others," thought Evan.

But Dordess presently returned alone, and nothing happened. He went back to the after deck. As the minutes passed, Evan grew anxious, not knowing what they had in store for him, but he kept the story going.

Suddenly he saw the hump of Staten Island sweep around into view through the stern windows, and the Statue of Liberty passed by on the port side. A few minutes before they had left it to starboard. Wails began to be raised in the cabin. "Oh! We're going back again! What's the matter? I don't want to go back!" No need for Evan to ask himself then what they were going to do.

He saw his opportunity when Corinna appearing in the saloon, stopped to pacify a crying child near the door. Dordess was on the other side of the saloon. Going to Corinna's side Evan said softly:

"I suppose you're going back to put me ashore."

She did not answer.

He said in the same tone: "Corinna, I will not submit to such a humiliation a second time."

"You have brought it on yourself," she answered without looking at him.

"Just the same I will not submit to it."

"What are you going to do about it?" she asked scornfully.

"I'll go down to the little deck outside the entrance hall on the port, that is the left-hand side. I will wait for you there. If you do not come to me before we pass under Brooklyn Bridge, I'll jump overboard."

She looked at him startled and searchingly. "You can't frighten me that way," she said proudly.

"I'm not trying to frighten you. I'm making a simple statement. You know what it is to have a strong will. Very well, others may have as strong a will as your own. When I say a thing I'd die rather than go back on it."

Corinna paled, but would not weaken. "I am not your keeper," she said. "You must do as you will."

"Give me five minutes talk alone with you, and I'll go ashore willingly. That's all I came for."

"I will not come. You will only make a fool of yourself."

"Very well, you have your choice," said Evan. He turned and went down the stairway.

Back on his camp-stool on the narrow deck, he felt as a man must feel after burning his bridges, a little shaky. He knew the lengths to which a stubborn will may carry a person, and he was not at all sure of her coming. Not that he meant to draw back; he spoke truth in saying he would have died first; he was a good swimmer, and he had no serious doubt of his ability to reach the shore, but he did not fancy being dragged out on a pier drenched and shoeless, and having to give an account of himself. And in that case Corinna would win out anyway. The only way he could really get the better of her would be by committing suicide, and he was not prepared to go as far as that.

To save time the Ernestina passed through Buttermilk channel between Brooklyn and Governor's Island. On the New York side the slips of South Ferry and Hamilton Ferry passed before Evan's eyes, and a little later Wall street ferry. The bridge was not visible to him where he sat, but he knew it was looming close ahead; the next ferry-house, Fulton Ferry, was almost directly under it. Finally he got an oblique view of the approach to the bridge with the trolley cars and trucks crawling upon it, and he stooped over to untie his shoes.

Suddenly the Ernestina gave a little lurch, and he looked up to see what was the matter. She was swinging around again! She turned her tail to Brooklyn Bridge and started out to sea again. Certainly if anybody had been following her course that morning they would have been justified in supposing the Captain to be slightly demented.

Evan laced up his shoes. He grinned to himself in mixed satisfaction and chagrin. Corinna had found a way to evade the choice he had given her! True, she had prevented him from jumping overboard, but she had not come to him. Clearly she preferred to endure his presence on the boat all day rather than give him five minutes alone with her.

The only thing he could think of to bring her was the power of curiosity. Perhaps if he stayed where he was she would be forced in the end to come see what had happened to him. He determined to try it anyhow.

"But as soon as she looks out of the door and sees me safe, she'll fly back," he thought. He moved his stool around to the very stern of the Ernestina. Here he was invisible unless one came all the way round to see.

Here his patience was indeed put to a test. He had nothing to read—he could not have applied his mind to it, if he had had, and he dared not smoke for fear of betraying himself. All he could do was to sit and study the scenery. The Ernestina went back through Buttermilk channel, and rounded Red Hook. She passed the Erie basin where upon the boundary fence Evan had the edification of reading a sign half a mile long extolling the virtues of a certain English condiment. And they say the English are not enterprising! She crossed the mouth of Gowanus bay and passed the villas of Bay Ridge, and still nothing happened.

But as she approached the Narrows, Evan thought he heard one of the sliding doors squeak, and his heart leaped. Jumping up he flattened himself against the deck house. There was an agonising pause. If only he dared peep around the side. Then Corinna came plump into view.

At sight of him a sharp exclamation escaped her. She hung motionless for a moment, her face fixed in a comical mask of surprise and indignation, like a child's, then she turned to run.

"Wait!" cried Evan peremptorily.

She saw that he could seize her before she gained the door. She had learned the folly of running from him. So she stood still. Drawing herself up she said:

"I have nothing to say to you. I only wished to make sure that you had not done anything foolish."

Evan glanced at the shores. Staten Island was the nearer—less than half a mile. "It is not too late," he said.

"Overboard I go," said Evan, "unless you stop here and talk to me as if I were a Christian."

She smiled scornfully.

"I shall not be fooled a second time," she said.

"You were not fooled the first time," he said quietly. He bent down and started to unlace his shoes.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Can't swim with my shoes on," Evan said without looking up.

He heard her catch her breath, but her voice was still inflexible. "Do you think me so simple!"

"I don't think at all," said Evan with his hand on the rail. "I give you your choice. Will you stop and talk to me like a reasonable being for five minutes."

Their hard eyes battled furiously, and neither pair would down. "No!" she said, though her lips were white.

He glanced down at the water boiling from under the Ernestina's counter, and gathered himself for the spring.

The glance was too much for Corinna. "Evan! Evan!" she cried sharply, and put her hands out.

In a trice he had her in his arms.

"Ah, don't kiss me!" she begged, even while her lips surrendered to his.

"Ah, you nearly let me go!" murmured Evan.

"I would have gone too!"

"Then we'd both have drowned. I couldn't carry you all that way."

"I wouldn't have cared."

"I'd rather live with you, you beautiful thing! Why do you want to kill us both?"

She tore herself from his arms. "I can't help myself. This is only torment."

"But why? why? I'm of age. I have a right to know, to judge for myself. What comes between us?"

"I cannot tell you."

"And do you expect me to let you go on your mere say-so? No, by God! Not while I live!"

"You must let me go!"

"Is it a sin for you to love me?"

"It is impossible."

"That's not answering my question. Have you a husband?"

"Certainly not!" she said indignantly.

He laughed at her tone. "Is there any other man who has a better claim on you than I have?"

She shook her head.

"Well, then!" he cried in great relief. "What's the matter? There's no other reason that I would recognise."

"Have mercy on me," she murmured. "Let me go. Help me to be strong!"

"In other words help you not to love me," he said tenderly. "Not on your life! I will never let you go without a good reason."

"I will tell you everything as soon as I can."

"What does that mean, 'soon as you can'?"

"In a few days, a week maybe."

"Why not now?"

"Something must happen first."

"Corinna, don't you understand how this mystery tortures one who loves!" he cried.

"I know. I cannot help myself."

"But you promise to tell me?"

"Yes, if you will let me entirely alone until I do tell you."

"I'll do my best," he groaned. "One can't promise miracles."

"And you must not let yourself love me, until you know."

"Oh, that's clearly impossible. I would have to love you just the same if you had two or three husbands and were the wickedest woman in the world beside."

"I'm not a wicked woman!" she passionately cried.

"Why, I didn't suppose you were," he said surprised. "But it wouldn't make any difference."

"Let me go now," she begged. "This only makes it harder."

"Tell me you love me, and I'll let you go. You owe me that after having had me assaulted on the last trip."

"I didn't know what they were going to do."

"Well, tell me you love me, anyhow."

"I do not love you."

"You do! It's in your eyes, your lips, I know you do!"

"If I told you it would be impossible to manage you!"

Evan laughed a peal. "Darling stubborn child! Then kiss me of your own free will and I'll let you go."

"No! No! No!"

"Then I must kiss you."



CHAPTER XVIII

THE ACCIDENT

Evan's talk with Corinna did not help him at all with the brotherhood. Whether they knew or not that he had had his five minutes with her, the fact that Corinna had ordered him put ashore and had then countermanded the order, was enough to rouse their jealous suspicions. One and all they sent Evan to Coventry. Let him work as willingly and cheerfully as he might, they ignored him: when they met they looked straight through him or over his head. Evan told himself he didn't care—and devoted his time to the children; but he was a man, and the heart in his breast was hot against them. With the children his popularity grew apace.

To-day the Ernestina was bound for Sandy Hook to give the small passengers a sight of the real ocean. They saw the ocean, and were not much impressed. Apparently they had expected the waves to come rolling in mountains high, whereas the ocean was as flat as Central Park lake. To be sure there was a slow swell that mysteriously heaved the Ernestina and troubled squeamish tummies, but it was not at all spectacular.

Later they lay in calm water inside the Hook while everybody ate. As the day wore on the weather began to thicken. The wind veered to the East and blew chill, and banks of white fog gathered on the horizon. Evan wondered why no one gave the word to return. It was hardly his place to interfere, but in the end he felt obliged to.

Tenterden happened to be the one that he spoke to. "We're going to have some dirty weather," Evan said lightly, "and we're a long way from the Bowery."

Tenterden looked him up and down. "Say, are you going to tell us how to run this show?" he asked. "That's good."

Evan shrugged and left him. "I owe you one for that, old man," he thought. "All right, my time will come."

It came sooner than he expected.

Someone did give the word, and the little Ernestina started back up the lower Bay at her customary head-long rate of eight miles an hour. And none too soon; the white wall of fog was creeping fast on her trail.

Evan was doing duty on the forward deck where the largest crowd of children was gathered. These were the healthiest and most obstreperous of their passengers. With his back in the point of the bow he could survey all his charges at once. No other helper was in that part of the boat at the moment. All was serene; the children for the most part swinging their legs in camp chairs and amiably disputing.

Suddenly from the very bowels of the vessel there came a horrifying report. The Ernestina staggered sickeningly, listed to port, and commenced to limp around in a circle like a wounded bird. Terrible smashing and rending sounds succeeded the first crash. It seemed as if the frail little vessel must fly asunder under such blows.

After a second's frozen silence on deck a dreadful chorus broke forth. Only those who have witnessed a panic at sea will know. On land one may always run from a horror; at sea there is nothing between horror and horror. When the majority of passengers are helpless children the scene surpasses horror. With sharp animal cries of fright, they ran around in blind circles, or charged in a body from side to side of the deck.

An icy hand was laid on Evan's breast. He expected to see little bodies with flying skirts drop into the water. How could he be everywhere at once? He sprang on a seat.

"Sit down, children!" he cried. "She's broken her engine, that's all. The danger's over now."

They were deaf to his voice. The most frantic of them all was not a child but a woman, who half lay on a bench with limbs stiffened out, screaming continuously like a maniac. Evan's voice was powerless against those cries. He was obliged to silence her. She fell over on the bench limply. Evan sprang up into sight of all again.

"Sit still!" he cried. "The danger's over. Sing with me!"

He raised his voice in Suwanee River, the song every child knew. A few joined in, some of the mothers helped. The frantic cries were stilled a little. The crashing sounds had ceased, but presently the roar of escaping steam renewed the confusion. Panic broke out afresh. Evan sang louder.

They looked in his steady face and ceased their aimless running about. Many joined in. The chorus swelled louder and louder. It was extraordinary what reassurance there was in the sound. The children sat down again, and presently like children, many of them were laughing at their late terrors.

The situation was saved on the forward deck, but Evan sang on with a sick anxiety in his breast. He looked up at the pilot-house. It was empty. Under the chorus he could hear ominous sounds from below, and from the saloon. And Corinna, what of her?

In a moment Corinna herself came out on deck, deathly pale but mistress of herself. Her eyes sought Evan's eyes. His heart swelled that she had thought of him in her extremity. Amazement filled her eyes at the sight of the laughing, singing children, amazement and a passion of relief. She closed her eyes, and swayed, clinging to the door-handle.

"Sing!" cried Evan quickly. "That's your job!"

She quickly pulled herself together, and throwing back her head let her full voice go out. It gathered up the ragged chorus, and gave the song a fresh start. Fog began to creep around the vessel.

"Inside with you!" cried Evan. "Show those crazy kids in there how to sing!"

He and Corinna herded them in by the two doors. The singing procession streaming into the cabin had an effect little short of magical on the bedlam within. Corinna changed the tune to Annie Laurie. The cabin roof rang with it.

Little Domville was rushing to and fro in well-meant but futile efforts to reassure the children. Evan seized him and planted him at one of the doors.

"Let no one go out!" he commanded. "And sing!"

Another youth rushed up. "Corinna, are you all right?"

"Sure, she's all right! Everybody's all right!" cried Evan. He put him at the other door. "Stand there and sing!"

The young man yielded instinctive obedience to the commanding voice.

Evan and Corinna passed down the saloon, Corinna singing and Evan beating time with extravagant gestures like an Italian bandmaster. Even the children who were still weeping had to laugh. They met Dordess on the way. Denton and Anway were bringing in the children from the after deck. As far as the passengers were concerned the crisis was passed—but ominous sounds still rose from below.

Evan whispered to Dordess: "Put a man at each door and at the stairway and keep the kids together. I'll go below and see what's the matter."

Dordess nodded. There was that in Evan's eye which caused all the men to look to him. Their late animosity was forgotten. He was avenged.

Evan hastened down the stairway. Below there was nobody in the after part of the vessel. Up forward he found a scene of dire confusion. Alongside the engine room the engineer lay prone on the deck with his second bending over him. Up in the nose of the vessel the remainder of the ship's company it appeared was engaged in a free-for-all fist fight with oaths and stamping.

At first Evan could not make head or tail of the fracas. Then he saw that it was the mate, a manly, up-standing young fellow and Tenterden against the four deckhands and the two firemen. But the two were more than holding their own; the six cringed and sought to escape their blows. Evan rushed between them.

"Leave off! Leave off!" he cried. "You'll start the kids off again."

"These —— —— cowards won't work!" cried the mate.

"Let them be. We've enough without them."

The mate and Tenterden reluctantly drew off.

"First of all is there any immediate danger?" asked Evan.

"No, she's not taking water," said the mate.

"Go up to the pilot-house. There's nobody there."

"I left the Captain there," the mate said, surprised.

"He's gone. Sound a distress signal on the whistle. Tenterden, you go with him to help keep a look-out."

The two hastened up the forward hatch. Even the truculent Tenterden made no bones about taking orders from Evan now.

Evan returned to the second engineer, leaving the sulky crew to their own devices.

"What's the damage?" he asked.

The second waved a tragic hand towards the engine, and Evan saw for himself what had happened. The main shaft on the port side had broken clean through. The sudden shifting of the strain had thrown the walking-beam out of plumb, and the connecting rods had snapped off and threshed wildly about. The ruin was complete, but fortunately, all above the water-line.

"Is the chief badly hurt?" asked Evan.

"I don't think so. Got a side swipe from the connecting rod. I can't find any fracture."

"Leave him to me. Get the fires banked so you can shut off that infernal steam. Just keep steam enough to blow the whistle."

"Come on, boys," said the Second to his firemen.

They did not budge.

"Come on, boys!" said Evan. "Don't let the kids shame you! Listen to the little beggars singing up there."

The two firemen slunk aft and disappeared down their ladder.

Evan presently had the satisfaction of seeing the engineer open his eyes. He was apparently not seriously injured. Two of the deckhands carried him to his berth which was on the same deck.

Evan returned to the saloon. "All straightened out below," he said cheerfully. "The old flivver has made a complete job of her engine. We'll have to get a horse."

The children laughed. Evan said aside to Dordess: "When they're tired of singing, get up a show."

He went on up to the pilot-house. The mate and Tenterden were anxiously straining their eyes through the fog. At minute intervals the mate sounded the distress signal of five short blasts on the Ernestina's whistle.

"Where's the Captain?" asked Evan.

"In his room," was the curt reply.

"What's the matter with him?"

The mate made a significant gesture of turning his hand up at his mouth.

Evan whistled noiselessly. "Has he been that way all day?"

"No, he took a dram when the crash came to steady his nerves."

"Well, let him be," said Evan. "What chance have we of being picked up here?"

"Not very good," said the mate. "We're on the flats inside the Hook. Few small vessels come down here, and a big vessel couldn't come to us even if she heard us. I'm afraid it's a case of wait till the fog lifts."

"We can't keep this gang out all night," said Evan. "That's flat."

"What do you propose?"

"Somebody must go ashore in a boat to telephone for a tug."

"No easy matter to take a boat ashore in this fog."

"It can be done. Just before the fog came down on us I marked that Atlantic Highlands was due south of us, and not above a mile distant. The wind has just come in from the east, and she'll hold there a while. By keeping the wind abeam on the port side you'd hit the shore somewhere near the pier."

"Well, I'll try it."

"No; you're our only qualified seaman. You must stand by the vessel. I'll go."

"How will you get back?"

"I'll borrow or beg a compass ashore. You keep the whistle going, and if the steam gives out, ring your bell."

"I doubt if you'll get the deckhands to bring you back. They'll go quick enough."

"I'll get boatmen from the shore if they desert."

The deckhands were brought up through the forward hatch, and one of the Ernestina's boats was lowered away. As Evan stepped in he said:

"Don't tell them below that I've gone ashore unless you have to."

It was a ghostly trip. At a hundred yards' distance the Ernestina was swallowed up entire in the fog, and thereafter they proceeded blindly in a grey void. Only a little circle of leaden water was visible around them, which travelled with them as they went. At minute intervals the sound of her whistle reached them, but it was only confusing for it seemed to come now from this side, now from that. Fog plays strange tricks with acoustics. Evan steered, keeping the wake of his boat straight and the wind in his left ear.

Finally to his relief the shapes of trees swam out ahead, and he had the comfortable sensation of touching reality again. It is a thickly settled shore, and he was quickly directed to the pier and the village. Here Evan's story quickly won him help from the water-farers. To be sure, two of his men incontinently walked off, but a dozen volunteers offered to replace them. After patient telephoning he succeeded in getting the promise of a tug from Perth Amboy, and stopping only to buy out the greater part of a grocer's stock, he started back.

Within an hour of leaving the Ernestina he was back on board. The mate and Tenterden were still on deck. For a single moment the latter looked at Evan with friendly eyes. No vessel had come within hail, they reported.

Evan hastened down to the saloon. Corinna and her aides had the children pretty well in hand—but a cry of welcome went up at the sight of Evan. Somehow the smallest toddler on board had gathered that Evan was the man of the hour.

"A tug will be along in half an hour to pick us up," Evan announced.

Cheers from the crowd.

"Why, how do you know that?" Corinna demanded of him privately.

"Oh, I just stepped ashore to telephone," said Evan airily.

Corinna sat down suddenly. "You went ashore, and left us!"

Within the promised time they heard a deep-toned whistle searching for them in the fog.

"Wh-e-e-re?"

To which the Ernestina agitatedly responded: "Here! Here! Here! Here! Here!"

This duet was carried on for upwards of ten minutes. The tug appeared to be travelling around them in a circle. It was like a game of Blind Man's Buff with both sides blinded. All of a sudden she came charging out of the fog, as if a magician had evoked her. The children swarmed out on the deck with cheers. Their elders let themselves relax with thankful hearts. A furtive tear or two stole down Corinna's cheeks.

Ropes were passed to and fro, and with the tug alongside, the slow homeward journey began.

As soon as all danger was over Evan received another lesson in the curious workings of human nature. Once more the brotherhood drew away from Evan as if the latter had the plague. Evan had them in an uncomfortable hole now, for all were conscious of being under an obligation to him. That only made matters worse, for when a person is resolved to hate you, to put him under an obligation only obliges him to be more hateful. As for Corinna, she retired into herself and was inscrutable.

It was a weary journey. The supper, materials for which Evan had brought from shore, created a welcome diversion; but supper over, they were still miles from home, and the helpers were hard put to it to keep the small passengers even moderately contented. Fortunately during the last hour the greater part fell asleep where they were, on the sofas, on the floor, on a couple of camp-stools placed together.

Evan and Corinna happened to meet beside one child draped over the arm of a chair in an excruciating attitude. They straightened her out together. Corinna did not look at Evan nor speak, but from her to him he thought he felt a warm current pass—or perhaps it was only because he wished to believe it. None of the other helpers were near. The child was sleeping soundly.

"Corinna, I love you," whispered Evan.

"Please!" she murmured distressfully. "You make it so hard for me!"

He would not remind her of what he had done for her, but he felt that it would be only decent of her to show some recognition of it. "Is nothing changed?" he asked.

"Nothing can be changed."

"After all we've been through?"

"I'm deeply grateful to you, but I suppose that's another story, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well—would you be satisfied with my gratitude?"

"No!" he said promptly.

"It's all I can give you."

"Corinna, you drive me mad!"

"Ah, don't begin that again. Think of my position. Be generous!"

"You're always appealing to my better feelings," he grumbled. "I tell you, they won't stand the strain."

So absorbed were they in this little exchange that they did not hear footsteps approaching down the carpeted saloon. Looking up, they beheld Dordess approaching with the whole brotherhood at his heels: Anway, Tenterden, Domville, Burgess, and the blonde youth whose name Evan never knew.

Corinna flushed up at the sight of them, but it was impossible to say for sure what her feelings were—mixed, probably. She looked guilty at being surprised in talk with Evan, and she was certainly angry; angry at the men, or angry at herself for betraying the blush. Evan, on the alert for trouble, smiled grimly.

Dordess was no less cynical and bland than usual, but he could not conceal the angry glitter in his eye. As for the others, they betrayed their feelings more or less according to their natures; Anway was hard and composed; Tenterden vicious and truculent; little Domville apologetic and reproachful, and the other two, youths of no particular character, merely self-conscious and inclined to bluster.

"May we have a few words with you?" said Dordess to Corinna.

"Certainly," she said stiffly. "What's the matter?"

"I speak for all of us," said Dordess, "to save time. We wish to convey to Mr. Weir our appreciation of the fine way he acted at the time of the accident."

Evan was not deceived by these honeyed words. He saw that there was more to follow. He spoke up. "Not at all. Every one of us did his darnedest, I'm sure."

Dordess went on: "We willingly grant that he's a fine fellow. Unfortunately we don't like him any better than we did before. And his fine conduct does not make it any more possible for us to work with him in future."

An involuntary exclamation of indignant reproach broke from Corinna: "Oh!" Evan was not displeased at the turn things were taking. "They're pushing her too far," he thought. "They'll drive her into my arms."

Dordess resumed: "You got us on board this boat. We look to you as our head. So we felt we ought to tell you at once how we felt, and leave it to you to act as you thought best."

Evan was conscious that there was a good deal more in this than appeared on the surface. He watched them keenly. Dordess' eyes held Corinna's unflinchingly, and Corinna's were the first to fall. Evan, seeing this, felt a sinking in his breast. "What hold has he over her?" he asked himself.

"What do you wish me to do?" asked Corinna in a muffled voice.

Evan was amazed. He had thought these men were Corinna's slaves, and here was Dordess visibly wielding the whip hand over her.

"Tell him," said Dordess, "that we very much regret it will be impossible for us to have him with us on future trips of our Association."

"You are ungenerous!" cried Corinna. "After he has saved us all!"

The six faces changed. Evan imagined that he could feel their hate like a wave.

Dordess' voice was still smooth. "I can't tell you how sorry we are. He has put us in a difficult position. But there is no help for it."

"Suppose you address me directly instead of through Miss Playfair," said Evan, careful to keep his voice as smooth as the other man's. "Don't let the trifling service that I am supposed to have done you trouble you, but tell me what's the nature of your objection to me."

"I think you know that," said Dordess. "You have been pleased to refer to us jokingly as the 'brotherhood.' All right, we accept that word. We are a brotherhood working under a certain understood rule. Well, you've had your chance, and you refuse to be governed by our rule. You insist on playing your own hand. That's all right. But if every one of us was working for himself it would make these trips impossible. Surely you can see that."

"And if I refuse to tell him what you ask me to?" Corinna burst out angrily.

"Then the rest of us will go," said Dordess instantly. "Our minds are made up as to that."

"A strike of the brotherhood!" cried Evan mockingly.

Corinna kept her head down, and traced a pattern with the toe of her slipper.

Evan became anxious at her silence. "Let them go!" he cried. "I'll undertake to fill their places before the next trip."

To his astonishment all six men laughed scornfully. Surely there was something going on here that he did not know. He scowled.

Finally Corinna raised her head. She ignored Evan's offer. She appeared to be looking at him, but her eyes did not quite meet his. "I am sorry to appear ungenerous and ungrateful," she said like a child repeating a lesson, "but it is true, as Mr. Dordess says, notwithstanding your brave conduct to-day, it will be impossible for us to have you with us in future."

"Corinna!" cried Evan in dismay.

The six men triumphed. In the faces of the weaker ones it showed offensively; the stronger hid it, but Evan was none the less conscious of it. His self-love suffered a ghastly wound.

Dordess relentlessly resumed: "We wish to be courteous, but there must be no misunderstanding. Please tell him that if in spite of this friendly warning he persists in forcing himself on board, you will authorise us to put him ashore."

A flash from under Corinna's lowered lids suggested that Dordess would have to pay for this later on; nevertheless she repeated tonelessly: "If in spite of this friendly warning you persist in forcing yourself on board I will have to authorize them to put you ashore."

Evan stared at her in angry incredulity. He simply could not take in the fact that she was putting so public an affront on him.

Dordess could no longer make believe to hide his real feelings. He went on, sneering: "Tell him further that if he continues to force his unwelcome attentions on you, you will feel justified in appealing to us to protect you."

Corinna repeated: "If you continue to force your attentions on me, I shall be obliged to appeal to these gentlemen to protect me."

Evan suddenly went cold. His lip curled. He told himself she had killed his love dead, and he didn't give a damn anyhow. He bowed to her.

"Oh, I assure you that won't be necessary," he said ironically.

Corinna walked away down the saloon. The brotherhood straggled after, victors perhaps, but secretly uneasy in the moment of victory. Evan was left standing alone, looking after them scornfully. The Ernestina blew for the pier.



CHAPTER XIX

FOUR VISITS FROM GEORGE DEAVES

As long as he was under the observation of his enemies it was possible for Evan to maintain his scornful and indifferent air, but at home and alone, his defenses collapsed. Useless for him to tell himself that the girl was not worth troubling about, that it was impossible he should love her after having received such an injury at her hands. Perhaps it was true he no longer loved her, but the wrenching out of his love had left a ghastly gaping wound in his breast. The only thing that kept him going at all was a passionate desire for revenge. Oh, to get square!

At home he had an additional cause for pain in the empty room adjoining his, though Charley's defection was somewhat overshadowed by the greater misfortune. But to be betrayed on succeeding days by his best friend and by his girl was enough to shatter any man's faith in humanity.

Next morning after breakfast he sat at his table with his head between his hands, when he was aroused by the sound of an apologetic cough in the hall outside his door. The door was open. A voice spoke his name deprecatingly.

"Here!" said Evan. "Come in."

George Deaves appeared in the doorway, and Evan was sufficiently astonished. Deaves was neatly dressed in black as for a funeral, carrying a highly-polished silk hat over his thumb. He was pale and moist with agitation, and looked not at all sure of his reception.

"I—I didn't know which door was yours," he stammered. "The woman told me to come right up."

Evan could hardly be said to be overjoyed to see his visitor, though his curiosity was somewhat aroused. "Come in," he said. "Sit down. This is an unexpected visit."

"Yes. Thank you." Deaves looked around him vaguely. "So this is where you live?"

"Not a very palatial abode, eh?" said Evan, following the other's thought.

"Not at all! Not at all!" said Deaves hastily. "I mean, very nice. Very suitable. One understands of course that a young artist has his way to make."

It was clear from his agonised and distraught eye that he had not come merely to exchange civilities. "What can I do for you?" asked Evan bluntly.

Deaves trailed off into explanations that explained nothing. "I intended to come anyway—to tell you—to express how it was—my position is very difficult—you can understand I am sure—to tell you—to tell you how sorry I was to be obliged to let you go."

"Oh, that's all right," said Evan indifferently.

"And then something happened which obliged me to come at once. I was here yesterday, but you were out."

"Yes, I was out all day," said Evan bitterly. "What has happened?"

Deaves wiped his face. "I have had another letter from those blackguards, a—a most dreadful letter!"

"Already?" said Evan.

"And so I came to you at once."

"You will pardon me," said Evan coolly, "but I do not yet see why you should come to me about it—after the manner of our parting."

"I had no one else to go to," said Deaves helplessly.

In spite of himself Evan was a little touched. "Let me see the letter," he said, holding out his hand.

Deaves passed it over and Evan read:

"Mr. George Deaves:

Dear Mr. Deaves:

Our enterprise has had its exciting side. We'd be willing to keep it up indefinitely for the pure fun of the thing were it not that it is so expensive. I mean, a large part of our takings is swallowed up in the inevitable charges. This leads us to offer you an alternative plan.

Under the present scheme we will assess you this season about forty thousand dollars, and an equal amount, or more, next year. Now we propose to save you money and ourselves trouble by asking you to endow the Ikunahkatsi once and for all. Four hundred thousand dollars is the sum required. At five per cent this is only twenty thousand a year, so you see you would save a clear half. On our part we would bind ourselves not to ask you to advance us any further sums of money on any pretext whatsoever. You will concede that heretofore we have scrupulously kept all our engagements with you. To put it humorously, it will cost you four hundred thousand dollars to get rid of us for good. Isn't it worth it? Especially now that the old gentleman has lost his efficient guardian.

We will give you until Sunday morning to think it over. If you agree to our proposal hang a flag from the pole that juts from the second story of your house, and we will send you instructions how to proceed. We are sure you will agree, but if you do not, we have further arguments to offer you.

Yours very sincerely, THE IKUNAHKATSI."

"Same old humourist!" said Evan grimly.

"And only the day before I sent them five thousand!" groaned Deaves.

"Just the same this is a confession of weakness," said Evan. "I see that clearly. The game is getting too difficult for them."

"What would you advise me to do?"

"Ignore that letter."

"But—but what do you suppose they mean by 'further arguments'?"

"I don't know. Make them show their hand."

"Do you suppose they contemplate—er—personal violence?"

"They may intend to threaten it."

Deaves shuddered. "Suppose they took me into custody as they did you?"

"Well, they didn't do me any harm, really."

"I am not so sure—the second time——"

"They wouldn't kill the goose that lays the golden eggs," said Evan grimly.

Deaves saw nothing humorous in the illustration.

"Have you shown the letter to Mrs. Deaves?" asked Evan.

Deaves shook his head. "I suppose they will be writing to her next," he moaned.

"Your father?"

"What's the use?" Deaves struck his forehead. "My position is becoming unbearable!" he cried.

"I'm sorry for you," Evan said, thinking: "If you only had a little more backbone!"

Deaves arose lugubriously. "After all there is nothing for me to do but to ignore this letter," he said. "I suppose you do not feel inclined to help me any further in the matter."

"On the contrary, I'll be glad to," said Evan quickly. "But on my own terms. I have my own score to settle with this gang."

Deaves looked heartened. "Then if I hear from them again what is your telephone number?"

"There is no telephone in this house."

"But I may send to you?"

"By all means."

"—Er—would you mind coming down-stairs with me?" said Deaves. "The halls are so dark. And this letter has made me wretchedly nervous."

Evan went with him, concealing his smile.

In the lower hall Deaves said: "Of course I shall not venture out on foot after this. I shall always use the car." A new and dreadful thought struck him. "But then in a car one offers such a conspicuous mark to a bullet!"

"You needn't fear bullets," said Evan. "A dead man can't pay blackmail."

Deaves seemed to take little comfort from this. "What do you think about my chauffeur?" he asked anxiously. "Take a look at him. Does he look honest?"

Evan glanced through the narrow pane beside the door. "There's nothing remarkable about him," he said. "He looks like—like a chauffeur. How can one tell from a man's looks what he's thinking about?"

"Suppose they were to bribe him, and he drove me off to their lair?" stuttered Deaves. "I—I think I'd better stay home altogether hereafter."

But he was back again at nine o'clock that night in a still greater state of agitation. "Father has not come home!" he cried. "Where is he?"

"How should I know?" said Evan.

"But you accompanied him on all his walks! You know his haunts!"

"His haunts!" exclaimed Evan. "His haunts comprised the whole five boroughs of Greater New York with occasional excursions into Jersey!"

"But you must go in search of him! I cannot let the night pass and do nothing!"

"My dear sir, I wouldn't have the faintest notion where to begin. The only thing to do is to send out a general alarm through the police."

Deaves wrung his hands. "I can't do that! I can't risk another horrible newspaper sensation on top of everything else!"

"Then there's nothing to do but wait to see what happens," said Evan patiently. "If he's had an accident in the street, you will be notified."

"You think I'd be glad if something happened to him," said Deaves. "Everybody thinks so. But after all he's my father. It's the suspense that drives me out of my mind!"

"It cannot be for long. If the blackmailers have kidnapped him——"

"That is what I fear!"

"They will open negotiations in the morning. And you need not fear that anything will happen to him during the course of negotiations."

"But what good will it do to negotiate?" cried poor Deaves. "I cannot possibly meet their demands."

"Tell them so," said Evan. "Put it up to them."

"Then they'll make him suffer."

"In that case he can pay them."

"Ah, you don't know my father! Four hundred thousand dollars! He'd die rather!"

"Well, that's up to him, isn't it?" said Evan coolly.

"Ah, you have no heart!" cried George Deaves.

"My dear sir," said Evan patiently, "it is your 'heart' as you call it that these fellows are working on. They would not dare to harm Mr. Deaves, really. If they did, it would arouse public opinion to that extent we could catch and hang every man jack of them!"

"Your cold words cannot ease the heart of a son!" cried Deaves.

Evan ushered him gently towards the staircase. "Take it easy!" he said soothingly. "Wait until to-morrow. Perhaps in opening negotiations they will give us a good chance to trip them up."

Deaves returned next morning before Evan had finished his breakfast. He extended a letter in a trembling hand.

"In the first mail," he said.

Evan read:

"One of our members happened to meet Mr. Simeon Deaves on the street yesterday, and invited him to spend a few days as our guest at the clubhouse. He is with us now, and appears to be enjoying himself pretty well, but unfortunately the climate of the vicinity is very bad for him. At his age one cannot be too careful. We think he should be returned home at once. A single day's delay might be fatal. If you agree, hang out the flag at eleven, Monday. We realize that you feel you must be extra careful in regard to the old gentleman's health, because you would profit so greatly by his death. You are so conscientious! Personally we would be very glad to see you come in for a great fortune; it would enable you to put so much more into the enterprise in which we are jointly associated."

Said Evan: "Stripped of its humorous verbiage this means: 'Come across or we'll croak the old man. And you needn't think you would profit by his death because we'd come down on you harder than ever then!'"

"Isn't it awful! Isn't it awful!" gasped Deaves. "Was ever a man put in so frightful a position? What am I to do?"

"Three courses are open to you," said Evan patiently; "the first, and in my opinion the wisest, course is—to do nothing. Put it up to them."

"But my father! He will suffer for it! A rotting old house overrun with rats, you said. And such an ordeal as you went through! It might very well kill him. How can I risk it?"

"He will always have the option of freeing himself," said Evan.

"He would die rather than submit!"

Evan shrugged. "Well, we went over all that last night. Your second course would be to take that letter to the police and put the whole matter in their hands. A force of ten thousand men with the information I can give them ought to be able to locate the clubhouse before night."

"And find papa's body!"

"Well, your third course is to hang out the flag and open negotiations."

"I have nothing to negotiate with! I cannot raise a cent more!"

"Never mind; bluff them. Spin them along as far as you can, on the chance of outwitting them in the end."

"What chance would I have of outwitting them?" cried Deaves mournfully.

Evan looked at the poor distraught figure and thought: "Not much, I guess." Aloud he said: "Well, that's the best I can do for you."

"All three courses are equally impossible!" cried Deaves desperately.

"Yet you must follow one of them."

"You are no help at all!" cried Deaves. He turned like a demented person, and ran down-stairs.

Evan thought he had seen the last of him.

But on the afternoon of the following day he returned once more. He was still perturbed, but his desperate agitation had passed; there was even a certain smugness about him. Clearly something had happened to ease his mind.

"Well, what did you do?" asked Evan.

Deaves looked confused. "Well—I couldn't make up my mind what to do," he confessed. "I—I didn't do anything."

"Just what I advised," said Evan. "Then what happened?"

Deaves evaded a direct answer. "I came to ask you if you would accompany me on a little expedition to-night?"

"What for?" demanded Evan.

"Is it necessary for me to tell you? I would pay you well."

"It's not a question of pay," said Evan. "I must know what I'm doing."

"You wouldn't approve of my course of action."

"All the more reason for telling me."

Deaves still hesitated.

"Let me see the latest letter," said Evan at a venture.

Deaves stared. "How did you know there was a letter?"

"Well there always is another when the first doesn't work, isn't there?"

Deaves looking a little foolish produced a letter and handed it over. Evan read:

"The enclosed speaks for itself. You will please proceed as follows:—bearing in mind that the slightest departure from our instructions in the past has invariably been followed by disaster:

You will leave home in your car at eight P.M. Tuesday. You may bring a companion with you in addition to your chauffeur, as we realize you have not the constitution to carry this through alone and we do not wish to ask the impossible. Therefore you may bring the huskiest body-guard obtainable—but neither you nor he must bear weapons of any description.

You will proceed over the Queensboro Bridge and wait on the North side of the Plaza at the corner of Stonewall avenue until eight-thirty precisely. You will not get out of your car during this wait. You will be under observation the whole way, and we will instantly be apprised of any departure from our instructions. In that case you will have your trip for nothing and the consequences will be on your head.

At eight-thirty you will proceed out Stonewall avenue to the corner of Beechurst, an insignificant street in the village of Regina. It is about ten minutes' drive from the Plaza. You will know Beechurst street by the large and ugly stone church with twin towers on your left hand. You get out on the right-hand side and send your chauffeur back. Tell him to return to the bridge Plaza and wait for you.

When he is out of sight you proceed up Beechurst street to the right. It climbs a hill and seems to come to an end in less than a block among a waste of vacant lots. You will find, however, that it is continued by a rough road which you are to follow. It crosses waste lands and passes through a patch of woods. You will be held up on the way, but do not be alarmed. This is merely for the purpose of searching you for weapons.

In the patch of woods further along, you will find two men waiting for you. To them you will deliver the securities. They will examine them and if they are all right you will be allowed to proceed. Do not return the way you came, but continue to follow the rough road. A short way further along it will bring you to a highway with a trolley line by which you may return to the Bridge Plaza.

If you do your part Mr. Simeon Deaves will be home before morning.

THE IKUNAHKATSI."

"What was the enclosure they speak of?" asked Evan.

"A note from my father."

"Ah! May I see it?"

"I haven't it. It was addressed to Culberson, President of the Mid-City Bank."

"An order?"

"Yes, for Culberson to buy $400,000. of non-registered Liberty bonds and deliver them to me!"

"So he gave in!" cried Evan in strong amazement. "Even Simeon Deaves values his skin more than his money!" he added to himself. "You have already secured the bonds?" he asked Deaves.

The latter nodded. "They're at home."

"By God! I hate to let those rascals get away with it!" cried Evan. "Four hundred thousand! Think of the good you could do with such a sum!"

"But they have promised to let us alone for good," said Deaves eagerly.

"They can afford to!" said Evan dryly. "It fairly drives me wild to think of them triumphing!"

"But you'll come with me?" said Deaves anxiously.

"Sure, I'll go with you. I may get a chance at them yet!"

"No! No!" cried Deaves in a panic. "That would ruin everything! You must promise me you will make no attempt against them!"

"I must be free to act as I see fit!" said Evan stubbornly.

"Then I cannot take you!"

"That's up to you," said Evan with an indifferent shrug. He turned away.

Deaves lingered in a state of pitiable indecision. "I have no one else I can ask," he said appealingly. "I beg of you to be reasonable, Weir. You must see that we are helpless against them. Promise me you will do nothing against them, and you may ask me what you like."

"I want nothing from you," said Evan coldly. "I won't promise."

"Then I must take a servant," said Deaves helplessly—"and perhaps lay myself open to fresh demands from another quarter!" He turned to go.

Evan of course was keen on going. When he saw that Deaves was actually prepared to stick to what he said, Evan gave in.

"I'll compromise with you," he said. "I promise to carry out instructions exactly as given in the letter until after the securities are handed over. After that I must be free to act as I see fit."

"What do you mean to do?" asked Deaves anxiously.

"I don't know. How can I tell? I'm hoping that something may happen to give me a clue that I may follow up later."

"Oh well, that's all right," said Deaves. "You'll be at my house before eight then?"

"I'll be there."



CHAPTER XX

THE BEGINNING OF THE NIGHT

George Deaves and Evan sat in the Deaves limousine with the package of bonds between them. Deaves was perspiring and fidgetty, Evan the picture of imperturbability—not but what Evan was excited too, but the display of agitation the other was making put Evan on his mettle to show nothing. The car was lying against the curb on the North side of the Queensboro Bridge Plaza, and they were watching the hands of a clock in a bank building creep to half-past eight.

"Why do you suppose they insisted on our waiting here?" said Deaves querulously.

"Can't say," answered Evan. "I have fancied that some of their orders were just thrown in to mystify us, to undermine our morale. Possibly they stipulated we must leave this point at eight-thirty so they would know exactly when to expect us."

"That man who just passed us, how he stared! Do you suppose he could have been one of them?"

"There must be a lot of them then. Everybody stares. Like ourselves, they wonder what we're waiting here for."

On the stroke of the half hour they gave the chauffeur word to proceed out Stonewall avenue. The village of Regina is not a beautiful hamlet. Its founders had large ideas; they laid off the principal street a hundred feet wide, but the city has its own ideas about the proper width of streets, and when in the course of time the municipality took over Regina it paved but two-thirds of Stonewall avenue, leaving a muddy morass at each side. The buildings that lined this thoroughfare were something between those of a city slum and those of a Western boom town. They had no difficulty in picking out Beechurst street; the big stone church in its muddy yard was a horror.

They alighted in the middle of the street, for the chauffeur opined that if he fell off the hard pavement he'd never be able to climb back on it. They dismissed him, and watched him turn and roll out of sight.

Deaves shuddered. "I wish I was safe inside!" he murmured.

Evan took careful note of their surroundings. On the corner where they stood was a stationery store, and across Beechurst street was a saloon. "Someone watching us from in there I'll be bound," thought Evan. If he had been alone he would have gone in. Across Stonewall avenue from the saloon was the church aforementioned, and the fourth corner was vacant.

They turned up Beechurst street, which was swallowed up in unrelieved blackness a few yards ahead.

"I feel as if there were watching eyes on every side of us," said Deaves tremulously.

"They're welcome to look at me if it does them any good," said Evan lightly.

"You carry the package," said Deaves.

"Aren't you afraid I might skip with it?" said Evan teasingly.

Deaves had no humour. He hastily took the package back. Evan chuckled.

The sidewalk ended abruptly, and they took to the centre of the street. Here they found a rough and stony road grown high with weeds on either hand. Mounds of ashes and tin cans obstructed the way; an automobile would have found it well-nigh impassable. It wound across that ugly no-man's land between the pavements and the cultivated land. What with his terrors and the tenderness of his feet, Deaves made heavy going over the stones.

To complete his demoralisation, a shrill whistle presently rang out of the dark behind them. Deaves gasped and clutched Evan.

"That's only their signal that all's well," said Evan.

"This is no place for me!" moaned Deaves.

The road became a little smoother, and alongside they saw the neat rows of a market garden. Evan sniffed that curious odor compounded of growing vegetables and fertilizer. Then the road dipped into a hollow and thick bushes rose on either side. The air was sweet of the open countryside here. It was very dark under the bushes. Deaves clung to Evan's arm.

Suddenly they found themselves surrounded by several figures with masked faces. A crisp voice commanded:

"Hands up, gentlemen!"

Deaves obeyed so quickly that the package rolled on the ground. Somebody sniggered. The first voice sternly bade him to be quiet. Deaves stooped to pick up the precious package. He was ordered to let it lie. Evan and Deaves, their hands aloft, were rapidly and thoroughly frisked for weapons. Deaves gasped with terror when they touched him. The spot was so dark, Evan could make but few observations. He did see though that the men—he counted four of them—were roughly dressed, and from this he deduced that they were from the higher walks of life. Clever and successful crooks nowadays are invariably well-dressed. The rough clothes were in line with the gruff voices the men assumed. Gruffness could not hide the educated forms of speech that they used.

The search was over in a minute. "Pick up the package, gentlemen, and proceed," ordered the voice. The figures melted away in the darkness. Evan and Deaves went on. The road rose out of the hollow, and they had more light to pick their tracks. Again a whistle sounded behind them.

"The word is being passed along to those in front of us," said Evan.

After the market gardens came a patch of woods. Deaves halted at the edge and peered into the shadows.

"I cannot trust myself in there," he muttered. "I simply cannot!"

"Just as you say," said Evan. "I don't suppose they'll let us back now."

With a groan Deaves started ahead. Evan sniffed the trees gratefully.

In the thick of the woods two figures faced them. White cotton masks over their faces gave them an unearthly look. Deaves tremulously held out the package, and it was taken from his hands. No word was spoken. One man snapped on an electric flash, and in the disk of light that it threw the other hastily unwrapped the package and examined the bonds.

Now from the white papers a certain amount of light was reflected back on the man who was holding the flash, and Evan studied him attentively. He was holding a pistol in his other hand. Something familiar in the creases of the suit he wore first arrested Evan's attention. That is to say, these creases suggested the lines of a figure that Evan had often drawn and painted. When in addition he perceived a certain well-remembered involuntary twitching in the figure, amazement and incredulity gave place to certainty.

"Charl!" he cried.

The two masked figures started back. He who held the light took his breath sharply, and Evan knew he was not mistaken. The man with the bonds quickly recovered himself.

"Be quiet!" he sharply commanded.

But Evan in his anger had forgotten prudence. "Charl!" he cried. "What does this mean? Have you turned crook!"

The other man whispered in a passion: "Shoot him if he doesn't shut his mouth!"

"Yes, shoot your partner," cried Evan.

Charley shrunk back.

"Give me the gun and I'll do it," said the other man.

"Weir, for God's sake, for God's sake, for God's sake!" Deaves was gabbling in an ecstasy of terror.

With an effort Evan commanded himself. Nothing was to be gained by making a row there in the woods. Indeed he already saw how foolish he had been to betray his discovery.

The examination of the bonds was concluded. The man who had them spoke to his partner: "These are all right. Hold them here while I start the engine."

Evan, more accustomed now to the darkness of the woods, made out that at the point where they stood the road forked. In the left fork he dimly perceived the form of a car at a few paces distance. The top was down. Presently the engine started, and Evan recognised that it was the same car that had carried him off. The engine had its own rattle.

Charley said in a disguised voice: "Keep straight ahead to the right."

He started to back away from them, keeping the light playing on the agonised, fascinated face of Deaves, who stood rooted to the ground. The hand that held the light trembled a little. Suddenly it was switched off and Charley ran the last few steps that separated him from the car.

Evan involuntarily sprang forward, leaving a speechless and gasping Deaves in the road. But Evan was not thinking of Deaves then. He saw Charley take the driver's seat in the car. The noise of the engine drowned what sounds Evan's feet made. He laid hands on the back of the car as it started to move, and swung himself off the ground. His knees found the gasoline tank. He cautiously turned around and let himself down upon it in a sitting position, his hands still clinging to the folds of the lowered top above his head. As they got under way the man beside Charley blew a blast on a whistle similar to those they had heard before.

They went but slowly for the way was rough. Evan prayed that the tank beneath him might be stoutly swung to the frame. As well as he could he distributed his weight between the tank and the top. After passing over some spring-testing bumps in safety he felt somewhat reassured. If she stood that there would not be much danger on a smoother road when they hit up speed.

Emerging from the woods they turned into a farm road not so bad, and by means of the farm road they gained a dirt highway, ever increasing speed as the way became smoother. All this neighbourhood was quite unknown to Evan of course, and his point of view was somewhat restricted, being directed solely towards the rear. He watched the stars and made out that the car was choosing roads that were gradually bringing it around in a great circle. He supposed that it was bound back for town—for the "club-house," if he was lucky.

Evan had no clear idea of what he meant to do. His one purpose was to get Charley by himself. He knew the ascendancy that he possessed over that mercurial youth.

They finally struck a smooth macadam road upon which they travelled East at thirty-five miles an hour, the best, no doubt, the old car could do. It was a well-travelled road. They passed all cars bound in the same direction, and to the drivers of these cars Evan on his perch was brilliantly revealed in the rays of their headlights. With the idea of suggesting that it was all a joke, Evan waved facetiously to them. They accepted it as intended, or at any rate none of them sought to give him away. They passed through several villages, but the people on the sidewalks rarely noticed Evan, or, if they did, they merely gaped at him.

They crossed the long viaduct over the railway yards in Long Island City, and Evan began to grow anxious. If they were going to traverse the whole length of town how could he hope to avoid having the attention of the two men on the front seat called to him by the sharp-eyed small boys? They crossed the Plaza and swung out on Queensboro Bridge, keeping close to the speed limit, or edging over it a little. The drivers they passed still obligingly accepted Evan's suggestion that he was paying an election bet, or was up to some other foolishness.

They passed a limousine which looked familiar. Evan looked twice and recognized the Deaves turnout. George Deaves sat behind the glass windows, looking pale and shaken. So he had got out of the woods all right! The chauffeur stared at Evan, then grinned widely, and stepped on his accelerator. The big car came up close.

Evan saw Deaves lean forward to rebuke his chauffeur for the speed. The chauffeur called his attention to Evan. Deaves' eyes nearly started out of his head. Evan waved his hand. Deaves, with emphatic adjurations to his chauffeur to slow up, fell back on his seat and closed his eyes. "He wants to forget about me," thought Evan. The limousine gradually dropped back out of sight.

Evan's anxiety about the streets of town was presently relieved. After crossing the Bridge Plaza, where, to be sure, a number of people laughed and pointed at him but without apparently attracting the attention of the two men in front, they turned into the darkest and quietest streets. Evan soon saw that they were not bound for the club-house. Their journey through town was not long; through Fifty-eighth to Lexington; down Lexington in the car tracks to Thirty-ninth, and East again. In Thirty-ninth street the car slowed down and Evan held himself in readiness to drop off.

At the moment of stopping Evan ducked under the side of the car opposite to the curb. He heard the car-door slam and feet run across the pavement. Cautiously peering around the back he saw Charley, fully revealed in the light of a street lamp, run up the steps of a house and let himself in with a latch-key. Just before disappearing he glanced up and down the street; no other car was in sight. Evan said to himself: "He is stopping here. That is something to know."

Evan peeped over the top. To his surprise he found the car empty. The second man had dropped off at some point en route without his seeing him. Evidently he still had the securities for Charley's hands had been empty. Evan was chagrined to think of this prize slipping through his fingers; however he still had a line on Charley.

Unfortunately for Evan at this moment a gruff voice behind him said: "Hey, young man, what do you think you're doin'?"

It was a policeman who, having observed Evan's maneuvres from across the street, had felt a perhaps not unnatural curiosity and had come over to satisfy it.

Evan, silently cursing his luck, instantly said with a confiding air: "It's just a joke, officer. Fellow I know hired this car to take his girl out, see? I think they're going to run off and be married, and I want to give them the laugh, see? All in fun."

"Well, it may be so," was the heavily facetious reply, "and again it may not. You better leave that guy be, see?"

"Just as you say," said Evan with a shrug.

He was not at all anxious to have Charley come out and find him in talk with the blue-coat, so he sauntered off down the street, the policeman following with a darkly suspicious eye. Glancing over his shoulder, Evan, to his unspeakable chagrin, saw Charley come scampering down the steps, jump in the car and start off in the other direction. In his heart Evan cursed the whole race of blue-coats.

Evan walked around the block and approached the house from the other side. The policeman was now out of sight. It was still only half-past nine, not too late conceivably to pay a call. Evan rang the bell.

The door was opened by a handsome, bold-eyed girl who had a challenging glance for any personable young male. Evan gave her look for look; she was a potential source of valuable information.

"Charley Straiker live here?" he asked.

"Yes, but he's out now."

"Do you know when he'll be in?"

"In half an hour. He's gone to the garage to put the car away."

"Sure he's coming back?"

"He just told me. In case anybody called up."

The trail was not lost then; Evan took heart. "Well, I'll wait for him," he said. "Where's his room?"

The girl gave him a provoking glance. "I don't know if I ought to let you up. I don't know you."

"Well, I'll stop and talk to you and you soon will," retorted Evan.

She tossed her head. "I can't stand here all night talking."

"What's your name?"

"Ethel Barrymore. What's yours?"

"Leo Dietrichstein."

"Some li'l jollier, aren't you?"

"I'm just learning from you, Ethel."

"Are you an artist like Mr. Straiker?"

"No, I'm a Wall street broker."

"Yes you are!"

"Any rooms to rent, Ethel? I'd like to hang out where you are."

"All the hall rooms are taken."

"They would be, around you. How about a man's size room?"

"Who do you want it for?"

This sprightly exchange was cut short by a shrill voice from the basement calling: "Sa-a-d-e-e-e!"

"Darn!" muttered the girl. "I've got to go or she'll scream her lungs out!"

"Which is Charley's room?" said Evan. "I'll go up."

"Second floor rear hall," she said as she disappeared.

Her cryptic description was sufficient to anyone who knows New York rooming houses. The room was typical. Charley had not been in it long enough to give it any of his own character. You squeezed past the bed to a tiny rectangular space at the foot where there was just room enough for a bureau, a wash-stand and one chair. If the occupant had a visitor one of them must sit on the bed.

Evan sat down in the chair and filled his pipe, thinking grimly of the surprise that Charley was due to receive when he opened the door. Suppose Charley flatly refused all information, how could he make him speak? It occurred to him that it would be well to be supplied with evidence, and he began to look over Charley's things. After the way Charley had acted he had no scruples in doing so; he would not have been at all put out of countenance had Charley come in.

He scarcely expected to find anything of importance—still Charley was extraordinarily careless. Seeing a book lying on the bureau (a novel by Jack London) Evan was reminded of an old habit of his friend's of putting any paper he wished to save between the leaves of a book. He shook the book and several papers dropped out: to wit: a letter from his mother; ditto from a girl in his home town, and lastly a sheet of thin paper with typewriting upon it. Evan put the first two back and studied the third. As he grasped the purport of it, he pursed up his lips to whistle and his eyes grew round. This was a prize indeed!



CHAPTER XXI

LATER THAT NIGHT

Evan read:

GENERAL INSTRUCTIONS FOR TUESDAY NIGHT

Members P.D. and H.B. will be on the ground not later than five o'clock Tuesday afternoon to make sure that no surprise is planted on us beforehand. P.D. will hang out in the little roadhouse marked A. on the map, where he can see anything that turns the corner, and H.B. will take up his station in the saloon B. at the other end of the road C. These two can communicate with each other by telephone if anything suspicious is observed.

Members J.T., L.A., J.M. and C.C. will proceed in two couples separately by trolley to the saloon at B. where they should stop for a drink for the purpose of showing themselves to H.B. who is watching there, and to give H.B. a chance to warn them if he has observed anything suspicious. All members must bear in mind that no chances must be taken. There is too much at stake. If anybody sees anything out of the way let him warn the others, and the operation be called off for the night. Unless warned by H.B., J.T. and the three others will proceed from the saloon to their station at the clump of bushes marked D. on the road C. They should not get there until eight-thirty as their continued presence in the neighbourhood might arouse suspicion.

Meanwhile T.D. and C.S. are to proceed in the car to the fork E. of the road by the route they have already been over. There is no need of watching the track through the woods to E. as it is not marked on any map, and could not be found except by one entering from A. or B. which will both be watched. The car must be in place, turned around and ready to run back at eight-thirty.

A most important duty devolves on H.B. who must satisfy himself that the man and his companion are not accompanied nor followed by the police. When the two pass the corner B. let member H.B. if all is well blow one long blast on his whistle as a signal to J.T. But if they are followed let H.B. blow five short blasts and take to the fields.

When J.T. gets the O.K. signal let him post his men in readiness to quietly surround the two and search them for weapons. If he gets a warning signal let him pass on a warning to J.T. and all must scatter in the market gardens and make their way home separately. After the two have been searched and sent on, J.T. will give the clear signal to T.D.

When the two arrive at the fork of the road E. member C.S. will keep them covered while T.D. takes the package and examines the contents. It is supposed that the man will bring Evan Weir as his companion, and C.S. must therefore take especial care not to betray himself by his voice.

When T.D. has satisfied himself the package is O.K. let him direct the two men to continue walking by the right-hand fork of the road, and when they have passed on, let T.D. and C.S. make their getaway in the car, signalling all clear as they start. When T.D.'s clear signal is heard let all members make their way separately to their homes. On the way back J.T. can give the word to H.B. None of the members must meet together later that night.

Meanwhile T.D. and C.S. make their way back to town by the same route they went out by, C.S. driving. T.D. after distributing the contents of the package through his various pockets, will drop off the car at any suitable spot according to his judgment, taking care that he is not under observation at the moment. He will return home, taking due precautions against being followed.

C.S. will return to his home in the car. If the car is required, a telephone message will be awaiting him there. If there is no message let him put the car up. If he is followed, it is no great matter, nothing can be brought home to him. After putting the car up let him return to his home for an hour. At the end of that time if no one has been there he can be pretty sure that he has not been traced. At eleven o'clock then, let him proceed to the club-house and report to me on the night's happenings. He can then take the old man home. A pass-word for the night will be communicated to him verbally.

Let every member commit the contents of this paper to memory and destroy his copy.

THE CHIEF.

Evan thought hard. This communication put an entirely new complexion on affairs. Far from wishing to confront Charley, Evan now desired at any cost to avoid him. If he could only succeed in following Charley to the "club-house" and in trapping the elusive chief himself, what a triumph! His heart beat fast at the very thought.

He hastened down-stairs, dreading to hear Charley's key in the door. Nevertheless he had to linger long enough to square the girl, for if Charley encountered her and she told him of his visitor it would spoil all. Evan looked up and down the street. No sign of Charley yet. He rang the bell to bring the girl.

She appeared, saying scornfully: "Oh, it's you, is it?"—but not ill-pleased by the summons.

"I hate waiting around," said Evan.

"He'll be here any minute now."

"I'm not so keen about seeing him anyhow. I'd rather visit with you."

"Quit your kidding, Leo."

"Come on out and have a soda while I'm waiting."

She hesitated, looked up and down—and succumbed. "All right. I'll have to hurry back. I don't need a hat."

Evan was careful to lead her towards Lexington, since it was from the other direction Charley would presumably appear.

They had their soda, never ceasing to "con" each other in the style that has been suggested. Sadie enjoyed it to the full; Evan on the other hand was rather hard put to it to keep up his end, for his thoughts were far away. His fits of abstraction rather added to his attractiveness in the girl's eyes; she couldn't quite make him out.

His problem was how to keep her from seeing Charley before Charley left the house for the last time, and yet be on time himself to follow Charley when he started out.

Issuing from the drug-store, Evan suggested a short walk, to which Sadie was nothing loath. He steered her through another street back to Third avenue, and managed to fetch up as if by accident before a moving-picture palace.

"Let's go in," he said carelessly. "The last show will just be beginning."

Once more Sadie hesitated, made objections—and allowed him to brush them away. Sadie was fascinated. Evan took her by the arm and marched her in in masterful style. For his own ends he chose seats in that part of the house where smoking was permitted.

To Evan's relief the picture proved to be one of which Sadie could wholly approve, and she no longer required to be entertained. She became absorbed in its unrolling. The hard eyes softened a little; clearly she was lifted out of this mundane sphere of rooming-houses and attractive, fresh young men you had to be careful with, into a realm of peculiar magnificence.

Meanwhile Evan watched the illuminated clock with which the proprietor thoughtfully provided his patrons, and made his calculations. He had to figure closely. He knew that all these picture houses let out at eleven, and they were only five minutes' walk from the rooming-house. If the show was over a little early to-night, or if Charley was a little late in starting, all his careful planning would go for nothing.

At ten minutes to eleven the drama was still going strong, with everything as yet unexplained. Evan whispered to his companion.

"I'm out of smokes. Excuse me while I get a pack at the stand."

She nodded without taking her eyes from the screen. She did not mark that he took his hat with him. He stopped not at the cigar-stand, but made his way out of the theatre. There was little chance of her following while any of the fascinating drama remained unrevealed.

He stopped in a haberdasher's and bought three of the largest size handkerchiefs for a grim purpose. Back in Thirty-ninth street he concealed himself in the area-way of a vacant house across the street from the rooming-house. Now, if only Sadie did not come back before Charley went out, and if an inquisitive policeman did not put a crimp in his plans!

A church clock struck eleven, and Charley appeared almost upon the last stroke. He slammed the door after him, and his feet twittered down the steps in style peculiarly his own. He stopped on the pavement to light a cigarette—and incidentally to look warily up and down the street. Reassured, he started quickly towards Lexington. He was an easy man to trail, gait and appearance were both so marked. Evan could hardly lose that cheap Panama hat cocked at a slightly rakish angle.

Evan let him get around the corner before he ventured out of his hiding-place. As Evan himself reached the corner of Lexington he looked back and saw Sadie turning into the block from Third. "A close shave!" he thought.

Charley was still visible hastening North with his loose-jointed stride, his "kangaroo lope" Evan had called it. He turned West in Forty-second street. This was an advantage to Evan, for Forty-second street is crowded at this hour. Charley took the more crowded sidewalk, and Evan kept the Panama in view from across the street.

They crossed the whole central part of town, breasting the current of pedestrians bound from the theatres to the terminal station. At Sixth avenue Charley went up one stairway to the elevated, and Evan up the other. The platform was crowded, obviating the greatest danger of an encounter. When a train came along Evan lost Charley for a while, for he could not risk boarding the same car of the train. But he had little doubt now where Charley was bound for: i.e., Central Bridge, the end of the line.

Up-town, when the crowd began to thin out a little; Evan satisfied himself that Charley was still safe in the next car but one ahead. "Lucky for me," he thought, "they set the only hour at night when the cars are crowded."

At the end of the line there were still many left to get off and Evan safely lost himself amongst them. Most of these people (including the Panama hat) climbed to the viaduct above to take the red trolley cars of various lines.

Charley boarded a Lafayette avenue car, but displayed an inclination to remain out on the back platform. This was a poser for Evan, but he managed with several others to crowd on the front end, which is against the rules. He found a little seat in the corner of the motorman's vestibule, where he sat down in the dark. Looking back through the car he could make out a square of Charley's striped coat through one of the rear windows. He kept his eye on that.

Charley rode clear to the end of the line at Featherbed lane. Evan, by lingering to ask the motorman a question as to his supposed direction, let him get away from the car. Eight people got off at this point. Five waited at the transverse tracks for the Yonkers car, while three, of whom Evan and Charley were two, crossed the tracks and kept on heading North by the automobile highway. They were at the extreme edge of the town in this direction. The last electric lights were behind them; only a house or two remained alongside the road, then tall woods and darkness.

There was no sidewalk; they proceeded up the middle of the road, first Charley, then the suburbanite, then Evan. Charley frequently looked over his shoulder, the pale patch of his face revealed in the receding lights. But Evan kept on boldly, confident that he could not be recognised with the lights at his back. The suburbanite turned in at one of the houses; Charley was presently swallowed by the shadow of the woods. Evan made believe to turn in at the last house, but dropped in the ditch, and crept along until he, too, gained the woods.

Running in the soft stuff at the side, pausing to listen, and running ahead again, Evan continued to follow Charley by the sound of his nervous steps on the hard road. The road turned slightly, and the lights behind them passed out of sight. The tall trees pressed close on either hand, and it was as dark below as in a cavern.

The steps ceased. Evan paused, listening. Had Charley stopped, or had he, too, taken to the soft stuff? They re-commenced, grew louder, he was coming back! Evan hastily withdrew close under the bushes at the side. Charley passed him at five yards distance. In the stillness Evan could even hear his agitated breathing. In a queer way Evan felt for him. It was no joke to fancy one's self followed on such a road at such an hour. He showed pluck in thus boldly venturing back.

Evan was obliged to take into account the possibility that this whole excursion up the dark road might be a feint. He dared not let Charley out of sight and hearing. He followed him back to the turn in the road, still creeping in the soft stuff. From this point Charley's figure was outlined against the twinkling lights of the trolley terminus, and Evan waited to see what he would do.

Charley went back to the edge of the woods: stopped, listened, walked back and forth a few times, then returned towards Evan, but now, like the other man, taking care to muffle his steps in the grass alongside. Evan could only see him at moments now. He was on Evan's side of the road. Evan drew back under a thick bush.

Charley came creeping along, bent almost double with the primordial instinct of concealment. He paused to listen so close to Evan that the latter, squatting under his bush, could have reached out and touched Charley's foot. Evan breathed from the top of his lungs, wondering that the beating of his heart did not betray him. He heard Charley's breath come in uneven little jerks.

For seconds Charley stood there. Was it possible he knew an enemy was near? Evan could make out his head turning this way and that. The tension was hard on nerves. Though he lay as still as a snake it seemed incredible to Evan that Charley did not feel his nearness.

Finally he went on, and a soft, blessed breath of relief escaped Evan.

He gave him ten yards and started to follow. Charley was on the alert now; very well, he must be twice as alert and beat him at his own game. Evan followed him by the swish of his feet in the grass, by the soft brushing of leaves against his clothes, by the crackle of an occasional twig under foot, at the same time taking care to betray no similar sounds himself. The advantage was greatly with the one who followed, for he knew the other man was there, while the one in front only feared.

Evan's patient stalking was interrupted by the passage of an automobile. He was obliged to seek cover from the rays of its headlights. It bowled up the road with a gay party, laughing and talking, all unsuspecting of the drama being enacted beside the road. Before it was well by Evan was out again. For a second he had a glimpse of Charley running like a deer up the road. Then he plunged into the bushes. Whatever the automobile party thought of this apparition, they did not stop to investigate.

Evan hastened to the vicinity of the spot where he had seen Charley disappear. Lying low, he concentrated all the power of his will on the act of hearing. He was rewarded by the faintest whisper of a sound from within the woods to the left of the road. It was repeated. Someone was creeping away in that direction. Charley had left the road. A sharp anxiety attacked Evan, for his difficulties were now redoubled.

But when he sought to feel a way into the woods, he discovered a place near by where it was comparatively open. There was no underbrush. In fact a road was suggested, a former road perhaps, for it was rough and tangled underfoot. Evan's heart bounded. Could this be the track that led direct to the abandoned house? He lost all sound of Charley, but continued to press forward full of hope.

At intervals he paused to listen, but no sound such as he wished to hear reached his ears; only the whisper of the night breeze among the leaves, and the faint far-off hum of the living world. A hundred feet or so from the highway the wood-track made a turn, and the trees hemmed him all about. The darkness of the road outside was as twilight to the blackness that surrounded him here.

Suddenly a sixth sense warned Evan of danger from behind. He whirled around only to receive the impact of a leaping figure which bore him to the earth. Dazed by the fall, for a moment he was at a hopeless disadvantage. The whole weight of the other man was on his chest. Evan struck up at him ineffectually.

Charley's voice whispered hoarsely: "I'm armed. Give up, or I'll shoot you like a dog! Will you give up?"

"Never!" muttered Evan.

The effect was surprising. "Evan! You! Oh, my God!" whispered Charley. The tense body slackened for a moment. Evan, gathering his strength, heaved up and threw him off.

But Charley was quick too. When Evan reached for him he was not there. Evan, grinding his teeth with rage, scrambled for him on hands and knees. The other kept just beyond his reach. Both were confused by the utter darkness. Each time one succeeded in getting to his feet, he promptly crashed over a branch again. Evan clutched at Charley's clothes, and Charley wrenched himself free. Charley, seeking to escape Evan, collided with him and recoiled gasping. Meanwhile he never ceased imploring him in a desperate whisper. But it was something more than the note of personal fear that actuated his pleading.

"Evan, hold up! You don't know what you're doing! Evan, listen! Let me talk to you quietly! I swear I'm on the square! Evan, for God's sake hold up, or I swear I'll have to shoot you!"

But Evan was past listening. "Throw your gun away, and stand up to me like a man!" he said thickly.

In the mad, blind scramble, Charley finally got his bearing and started to run back towards the highway. Evan plunged after him. Charley tripped and fell headlong, and Evan came down on top of him.

Charley was helpless then, for in strength he was no match for Evan. Yet he still struggled desperately. Not to escape though. His hand was in his pocket. Not for his gun, because that was already out. He managed to get the hand to his lips, and then Evan understood. The warning whistle! As Charley drew breath to blow, Evan snatched it out of his hand and flung it into the bush.

While Charley still implored him, Evan shook out a handkerchief in his teeth, and gagged him. With the other handkerchiefs that he had brought against such a contingency, he tied his hands behind his back, and tied his ankles. He then possessed himself of Charley's pocket searchlight, and with its aid found the revolver which had flown from Charley's hand upon his fall.

With his antagonist bound and helpless at his feet, Evan cooled down. He rapidly considered what he must do next. He had no means of knowing how well the old house might be barricaded, and it would be the height of foolhardiness to attempt to storm it single-handed. On the other hand, if he took the time to go for the police, the chief of the gang, warned of danger by Charley's non-arrival, might make his getaway. Perhaps he could commandeer an automobile. Late as it was, an occasional car still passed on the highway. Evan hastened back.

As he turned the bend in the road he saw the lights of a car standing in the main road with engine softly running. Evan prudently slowed down. The occupants could not possibly see him yet. They were talking. Evan listened.

One said: "Well, it's all over now, anyway."

Another replied. "Come on in, and let's see what was the matter?"

"Into that black hole? Not on your life!"

"We have flashlights."

"Yes, and a nice mark they'd make for bullets!"

This was sufficiently reassuring. Evan showed himself. He saw an expensive runabout with two young fellows in it. They burst out simultaneously:

"What's the matter?"

"Oh, I had a fight with a crook in there," said Evan. "They have a hang-out in an old abandoned house."

"Do you want any help?"

"No thanks. I've got him tied up. But I wish you'd go for the police if you don't mind."

"Sure thing! The nearest station's in Tremont, five miles over bad roads. We'll bring 'em back in half an hour!"

In his excitement the young fellow threw his clutch in, and the big car leaped down the road before Evan could give him any further particulars.

On his way back Evan felt certain compunctions at the sight of Charley lying bound in the road. After all, Charley had been his friend for many a year. He wouldn't mind saving him from the consequences of his own folly if he could. That the police might not discover him when they came, Evan dragged him out of the road, and under a thick leafy bush to one side. Charley made imploring sounds through the gag. Evan continued along the rough track. He had the pocket flash to help him over the rough places now. In a quarter of a mile or more from the highway he came upon the dark mass of the old house rising against the night sky. It stood on a little rise in the midst of its clearing, which could scarcely be called a clearing now, for except in a small space immediately around the building the young trees were rising thickly.

It was a square block of a design somewhat freakish for a country residence, since the principal storey was above the entrance floor. There was a row of tall windows here, and above these windows an attic in the style of the eighteenth century. The tall windows evidently lighted the great room where Evan had suffered his ordeal at the hands of the Ikunahkatsi. It was in one of the back rooms on the same floor that the chief had his sanctum, he told himself. All the windows of the house were dark, but this did not prove that people were not within and awake, for Evan remembered the heavy shutters inside the windows.

He waited for a minute or two, and then began to get restless. In fact he itched for the glory of taking the chief single-handed. The letter of instructions had suggested that the chief would be alone in the building to-night, except for the old negress and the prisoner. And Evan was armed now. If he could find some way to make an entrance without giving an alarm, he believed it could be done.

He stole up to the front door on all fours. It was locked of course. He went around to the back; there were two doors here, both locked. He went from window to window. All of them had panes missing, but within each window the heavy shutters were closed and barred. He thought of cellar windows, sometimes they were forgotten. In certain places thick clumps of sumach had sprung up close to the house. Pushing behind one such clump, he stumbled on an old stone stair leading down. Once it had been closed by inclined doors, but these had rotted and fallen in. The steps led him into the cellar.

With the aid of his light he picked his way over the piles of rubbish and around the brick piers. Immense brick arches supported the chimneys of the house. They built more generously in those days. The rats scuttled out of his way. In the centre of the space there was a steep stair leading up. It looked sound. Pocketing his light, he crept up step by step and with infinite care tried the door at the top. It yielded! He was in!

All was dark and silent throughout the house. He judged that he must be in the central hall. He dared not use his light now, but felt his way towards the front. The sensation was not unlike that when he had been led through the house blindfolded. He touched the edge of the stairway, and guided himself to the foot. As he turned to mount, a sound brought the heart into his throat.

He identified it, and smiled grimly. It was a human snore and it came through the door on his left. This was the room where he had been confined, and it was more than likely old Simeon Deaves was sleeping there now.

He went up, stepping on the sides of the stair-treads to avoid making them creak. The stairway turned on itself in the middle, and at the top he was facing the front of the house again. Here he had to flash his light for a second. Immediately before him a pair of doors gave on the big room. They stood open. There were two more doors, one on each hand, both closed. Evan put out his light. As he did so a tiny ray of light became visible through the keyhole of the door on his left.