Dawn was breaking over Wilton and the first shafts of sunlight transforming its pearly sands into sparkling splendor and its sea into spangled gold, when a trim motor car, bearing a New York number plate, slipped quietly into the village and drew up at the town garage.

From it stepped a man, small and somewhat bent, with rosy cheeks, kindly brown eyes, a countenance schooled to stolidity rather than naturally so, and hair touched with grey.

"May I leave my car here?" he inquired of the lad who was sweeping out the building.

"Sure!"

"Fill her up for me, please. And you might clean her a bit. Some of the roads were pretty soft."

"They always are at this season of the year, sir. You are astir early. I thought I was, but I reckon you've beaten me. Come far?"

"New York."

"Been riding all night?"

The stranger nodded.

"I like traveling at night," he volunteered. "Less traffic. Can you tell me where a Mr. Heath is staying?"

"Heath? The chap who ran aground on the Crocker Cove sand bar?"

"He came in a boat," replied the other cautiously.

"Then he's your party. He's over to The Widder's."

"The Widow's?"

"U—h—aah."

"Where's that?"

"New round here, ain't you? If you warn't, you wouldn't be askin' that question. The Widder lives out yonder at the Homestead."

"How does one get there?"

"Wal, there are several ways. When the tide's low, folks walk. It's even possible to motor round by the shore if you've a light car. The quickest way, though, an' the only way to reach the house when the tide's full, as 'tis now, is to row."

Although the keen eyes of his listener narrowed, they expressed no surprise. Apparently he was accustomed to obstacles, and the surmounting of them was all in the day's work.

"Where'll I find a boat?"

"That I couldn't say. The Widder keeps hers t'other side of the channel. Mebbe, though, if you was to go down to the beach some fisherman would give you a lift across. 'Most any of 'em would admire to if you're a friend of Marcia Howe's."

The stranger bowed but offered no comment. If curiosity stirred within him concerning the information the lad vouchsafed, at least he gave no sign.

"Thank you," he replied briefly. "You'll see the car is put in good shape?"

"The very best."

"Much obliged. Will this road take me to the beach?"

"Straight as an arrow. Pity you have to tote that suit-case."

"I'm used to carrying luggage. It never bothers me. Good morning."

Without wasting additional words or time, the stranger nodded and started off briskly in the direction indicated. Nevertheless, swiftly as he moved, his eyes missed none of the panorama stretched before him.

The swelling expanse of sea, rising and falling to the rhythm of its own whispered music, caught his ear; he noted the circling gulls that dipped to the crests of the incoming waves or drifted in snowy serenity upon the tide; saw the opalescent flash of the mica-studded sands. Twice he stopped to fill his lungs with the fresh morning air, breathing deeply as if such crystalline draughts were an infrequent and appreciated luxury.

When he reached the beach he halted, glancing up and down its solitary crescent and scanning eagerly the silvered house beyond the channel. Discovering no one in sight, he dragged from the shore a yellow dory, clambered into it, and catching up the oars began to row toward the dwelling silhouetted against the water and the glory of the morning sky.

In the meantime, both Marcia and Sylvia had wakened early and were astir.

The kitchen fire was already snapping merrily in the stove, however, and the table was spread before the latter made her appearance.

She came in, sweater and beret in hand, and carrying a thick envelope with its dashingly scrawled address still wet.

"Why, Sylvia, how you startled me!" Marcia exclaimed. "I did not hear you come down stairs. Why are you up so early?"

"I'm going to town to catch the morning mail."

"The mail? But, my dear child, why such haste?"

Sylvia colored.

"I have to get off this letter."

"Have to?"

"Yes—to Hortie. You see, if I didn't answer promptly he might think the candy had gone astray," explained the girl stepping to the mirror and arranging a curl that rippled distractingly above her forehead.

"Oh, of course, you must thank him for the candy," Marcia agreed. "Still, is it necessary to do so in such a rush—to walk to the village this morning?"

"I mean to row over."

"I'm afraid you can't, dear. I discovered last night the boat was gone. Eleazer Crocker must have appropriated it when he was here yesterday."

"How horrid of him! What earthly right had he to take it?"

"None at all."

"Didn't he ask if he might?"

"No. To tell the truth, I went to find a book for him and was gone so long he apparently became either peeved or impatient at my delay and like a silly small boy went home mad, taking the boat with him—at least that's my version of the story."

"Perhaps he did it to punish you."

"Perhaps. Anyway, whether he took it as a joke or as a reprisal, I shall give him a good lecture when I see him. It is a serious thing to be left out here with no way of getting to land. We might have needed the dory sorely. In fact, here we are with this tremendously important letter that must be posted immediately—willy-nilly."

With eyes brimming with laughter, Marcia shot a mischievous glance at her companion.

"It isn't just to thank Hortie for the candy that I'm writing," that young lady replied sedately. "You see, he asked if he might come to Wilton for his summer vacation. He has to know so he can make his plans."

"But it is only the last of April, beloved."

"Men need to know such things well in advance. They have to adjust their business," returned Sylvia magnificently.

"I see," smiled Marcia. "Under such conditions, I suppose the sooner the letter is sent the better."

She did not say precisely what conditions were in her mind, but evidently the comment mollified Sylvia who, after wriggling her mop of curls through the neck of her blue sweater, tossed beret and letter into a chair and began, in high spirits, to help with the breakfast.

Yet notwithstanding she did so graciously, it was quite obvious her eyes were on the clock and that she was fidgeting to be off; so as soon as the coffee and toast were ready, Marcia begged her not to delay.

The girl needed no urging.

"The sooner I start, the sooner I shall be back, I suppose," she answered with feigned reluctance. "Men are so unreasonable. It's a perfect nuisance to trot to Wilton with this letter at this hour of the morning, especially if I must go the long way round. Still, there's no other way to get it there. Any errands?"

"Not today, thanks. Just the mail."

"I'll wait for it."

The eagerness betrayed by the reply left not the slightest doubt that Sylvia would wait, and gladly.

As the door closed behind her, Marcia smiled whimsically.

She continued to smile, even to hum softly to herself while she prepared Heath's breakfast tray, and she was just about to take it upstairs when there was a gentle knock at the kitchen door.

A stranger stood upon the threshold.

"Is Mr. Stanley Heath staying here?" inquired he.

"Yes."

"I am Currier. Mr. Heath sent for me."

"Of course! Come in, won't you? Mr. Heath is expecting you. I'll tell him you are here."

"You needn't do that, madam. Mr. Heath is quite accustomed to my coming to his room at all hours. If you will just show me where he is—"

"At the head of the stairs."

"Very good. Thank you, madam. I will go up."

"Tell him I am bringing his breakfast very soon."

"I will, madam."

"Have you breakfasted yourself?"

"I? No, madam. But I beg you will not—"

"I'll bring coffee and toast enough for both of you."

"Please—"

"It is no trouble."

"I will come back and fetch Mr. Heath's breakfast, madam. Afterward, if I may have a snack here in the kitchen, I shall be grateful."

"Any way that you prefer."

Marcia saw rather than heard the stranger mount the staircase.

His step was like velvet. So noiseless was it, it made not a sound either on the broad creaking staircase, or on the floor overhead.

Nevertheless, he must have entered Stanley Heath's room, for soon she detected the invalid's voice, imperative and eager, each sentence ending with an interrogation. The lapses of silence which intervened and which at first she took to be pauses, she presently decided represented the inaudible and subdued replies of Currier.

To judge from the sounds, Heath was pouring out an avalanche of questions.

Sometimes he choked as if words came faster than he could utter them; and once he broke into peals of hearty laughter, followed by a paroxysm of coughing.

Still, Currier failed to return for the waiting tray.

"He has forgotten all about it," murmured Marcia. "The coffee will be stone cold and the toast ruined. I'll carry them up myself."

She mounted the stairs softly that her coming might break in as little as possible upon the conversation of her two guests.

"She was alone in the library when I went in," Heath was saying, "and turned so white I feared she might faint or scream. Luckily she did neither. Steadying herself against the table, she faced me.

"'You know what I'm after,' I said—'the jewels.'

"She hedged a moment.

"'What makes you think I have them?'

"'I know. Come, hand them over.'

"At that, she began to cry.

"'Quickly,' I repeated. 'Someone may come.'

"With that, she fumbled under her skirt and produced the jewel-case, pouring out a torrent of explanations.

"I stopped no longer than I had to, I assure you. With the jewels in my hand, I slipped through the French window and made for the landing where I had left the boat. In no time I had made my get-away. Every detail of my plan would have gone smoothly but for the fog. I lost my bearings completely. Imagine my amazement at finding myself here."

Marcia waited to hear no more.

Her knees trembled beneath her.

So Heath really had taken the jewels—taken them from the resisting woman who owned them—taken them against her will and made off with them!

He owned it!

Nay, more! Far from regretting what he had done, in his tone rang a note of satisfaction in his accomplishment.

She had never believed him guilty.

Even with the gems spread out before her and every evidence of crime apparent, she had not believed it.

Not until she heard the bitter, irrevocable confession from his own lips did she waver, and even then she battled against the truth, refusing to be convinced. There must be some explanation, she told herself. Nevertheless, the shock of what she had learned was overwhelming.

It seemed as if every ounce of strength left her body. Her head swam. Her heart beat wildly.

"I must not give way!" she reiterated to herself. "I must put on a brave front. He must not suspect I know."

It took a few moments for her to regain her grip on herself, to quiet her throbbing heart, to drag back her ebbing strength.

Then she knocked at the door.

"Here is your coffee, Mr. Heath," she called.

She hoped his friend would open the door and relieve her of the tray that she might immediately withdraw, but instead, Heath himself responded:

"Come in, Mrs. Howe. I'm afraid we've delayed you. I had entirely forgotten about breakfast and so, I'll be bound, had Currier. You met my right-hand man down stairs, I take it. By traveling all night, he made very good time."

"He must be tired after his trip!"

"Oh, Currier is used to traveling at all hours. Night or day are both alike to him," laughed Heath.

"You found the house without trouble?" Marcia inquired, making an effort to address the newcomer in a natural, off-hand manner.

"Yes, Mrs. Howe. A young man at the garage directed me to the beach and there I discovered a yellow dory which I appropriated. I don't know as I should have taken it, but as I needed a boat, I pressed it into service."

"The boat happens to be mine."

"Indeed. Then perhaps you will pardon my using it."

"Certainly. In fact, I am glad you did. It was left on the mainland by mistake."

As Marcia turned to go, her unfailing courtesy prompted her to add:

"Mr. Currier is welcome to stay if he wishes to, Mr. Heath. We can put him up perfectly well."

"Oh, no. He is returning directly. It seems wiser for him to go back in the boat and leave the car for me to use here. Nevertheless, I greatly appreciate your kindness."

"Mrs. Heath is anxious," put in Currier. "She begged me to come home as soon as possible that she might know how Mr. Heath was. Naturally she has been much worried."

"There, there, Currier—that will do," broke in Stanley Heath, flushing. "And now, since Mrs. Howe is here and is in our secret, I may as well break to you something I have not yet had the chance to tell you. Part of the mission on which you came cannot be accomplished. You cannot take the gems back with you to New York. A calamity has befallen them."

"A calamity, sir?"

The small, grey-haired man looked from Stanley Heath to Marcia, and for the first time, his imperturbable countenance betrayed mingled amazement and distress. Presently, however, he had it under control and as if he had donned a mask, it became as expressionless as the sphinx while he waited for the rest of the story.

"Mrs. Howe helped me conceal the jewels downstairs in a hiding-place under the kitchen floor," continued Stanley Heath. "When she went to get them, they were gone."

"You don't tell me so, sir!"

"It is all very mysterious," broke in Marcia, taking up the tale. "I cannot in any way account for their disappearance and am much distressed."

"Naturally so, madam—naturally so," responded Currier politely. "And you have searched the place carefully? Sometimes such things get misplaced."

"I've looked everywhere. They are not there."

"Have you any theory as to who could have taken them?" inquired Currier with more animation than he had up to the moment displayed.

"Absolutely none. I cannot even see how anybody had the chance to take them. No one knew they were there."

"Would you be willing to show me where they were hidden and allow me to investigate?"

"Certainly. I fear, however, search will be useless."

"Still I should like to look."

"I'll take you downstairs then, while we have the opportunity. You must have something to eat, too, for you must be hungry after your long ride."

"I could do with a cup of coffee, if convenient."

"You shall have more than that—a hearty breakfast. I am sure you need it. When do you start back?"

"That is for Mr. Heath to decide."

"Right off. As soon as you can get under way," Stanley Heath said decisively. "It is a fine day and you had better make the most of the tide."

"That certainly would be wise, sir."

"Go down now with Mrs. Howe, since she is so gracious, and have your breakfast. Examine, too, the place where we concealed the jewel-case. You may discover a clue she has missed."

"That is extremely unlikely, I fear, sir," was the man's modest answer. "Still, I will look."

"I am sick at heart about all this," Marcia murmured as the two descended the stairs. "You see, it was I who suggested to Mr. Heath where to hide the gems. We were hurried and had no time to think up a place. I had used this hide-out before and as it had always proved safe, I thought it would be so now. I feel responsible—as if this loss was my fault."

"It is a great pity," was Currier's ambiguous reply.

Preceding him into the kitchen, Marcia went straight to the hearth and pointed to the brick at her feet.

"It was here we put the jewel-case," she said.

"I think, with your permission, I will take up the brick," the little man at her elbow quietly announced.

"Certainly," acquiesced Marcia wearily.

"There might be some crevice, some opening—"

"I fear there isn't. Still you can try."

Taking out his knife, Currier knelt and soon had the brick out of its hole.

Beneath it lay the jewel-case, wrapped as before in Stanley Heath's monogrammed handkerchief.

Marcia could not believe her eyes.

"But—but—it wasn't there when I looked. I could swear it wasn't."

"Who could have taken it out? And if someone did why return anything so valuable?" Currier inquired.

"I don't know. I do not understand it at all," the woman replied, passing a hand across her forehead in complete bewilderment. "There is something uncanny about the whole affair."

"Well, at any rate, the gems are here now," said Currier in a matter-of-fact tone. "Mr. Heath will be much relieved. Their loss must, I am sure, have distressed him deeply. Shall I go up and—"

"I'll go," Marcia cried. "It won't take me a minute. I'll be right back."

"As you prefer, madam."

Off flew Marcia.

Her haste, the radiance of her face must have suggested to the stranger a thought that had not occurred to him before, for after she had gone, he stood immovable in the middle of the floor looking after her.

Then a slow, shadowy smile passed across his features.

Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he took two or three meditative strides up and down the room.

"So—ho!" he muttered. "So—ho!"

It happened he had quite an opportunity for thought before his hostess returned and he employed it to the utmost.

He was still absorbed in reverie when Marcia, breathless and flushed, rejoined him.

She made no apology for her absence.

Perhaps she did not realize the length of time she had been gone.

"Well," queried she, "what conclusion have you arrived at?"

"A very interesting one," Currier returned promptly.

"Really? What is it?"

The man appeared taken aback.

"I misunderstood your question," he faltered. "I had something else in mind."

"I don't see how you could have. I can think of nothing but the jewels and their recovery. I am so happy I had completely forgotten your breakfast. Forgive me. You shall have it right away."

"If you would allow me, I can prepare it myself. I am accustomed to doing such things."

"No, indeed. Scrambled eggs take only a few moments; and bacon. You might run up to see Mr. Heath while I am getting them ready."

"I will do that. I shall be leaving at once and he may have final orders for me, or perhaps a letter for Mrs. Heath."

"Mrs. Heath!" Marcia repeated, as if the name suddenly brought before her consciousness something hitherto forgotten. "Yes, yes! Of course!"

Then turning her head aside, she inquired with studied carelessness:

"How long, I wonder, does Mr. Heath plan to remain in Wilton?"

"I could not say, madam."

"I think," hurried on the woman, "that as soon as he is able to make the journey he would better go home. This climate is—is—damp and he will, perhaps, pick up faster away from the sea. If you have any influence with him, won't you please advise it?"

The man's small, grey eyes narrowed.

"I have no influence with Mr. Heath," replied he. "Mrs. Heath has, however. Shall I tell her?"

"I wish you would."

An hour later My Unknown Lady weighed anchor and on the breast of the high tide, rounded the Point and disappeared out to sea, carrying with her Currier and the jewels.

Marcia watched until the last snowy ripple foaming in her wake had disappeared. When the infinitesimal, bobbing craft was no longer visible, she sank into a chair and brushed her hand across her eyes.

The lips which but a short time before had curled into smiles were now set and determined.

"And that's the end of that foolishness!" she muttered. "The end!"