The justly celebrated moon that in summer months shed so much glamour on the romances of Baldpate Inn was no where in evidence as Mr. Magee crept along the ground close to the veranda. The snow sifted down upon him out of the blackness above; three feet ahead the world seemed to end.

"A corking night," he muttered humorously, "for my debut in the hold-up business."

He swung up over the rail on to the veranda, and walked softly along it until he came to a window opening into the office. Cautiously he peered in. The vast lonely room was lighted by a single candle. At the foot of the broad stair he could discern a great bulk, seated on the lowest step, which he correctly took to be the mayor of Reuton. Back of the desk, on which stood the candle, Mr. Max's head and shoulders were visible. He was working industriously in the immediate vicinity of the safe door. Occasionally he consulted the small traveling-bag that stood on the desk. Many other professions had claimed Mr. Max before his advent into Reuton politics; evidently he was putting into operation the training acquired in one of them. Mr. Bland was nowhere in sight.

Shivering with cold and excitement, Mr. Magee leaned against the side of Baldpate Inn and waited. Mr. Max worked eagerly, turning frequently to his bag as a physician might turn to his medicine-case. No word was spoken in the office. Minutes passed. The bulk at the foot of the stairs surged restlessly. Mr. Max's operations were mostly hidden by the desk at which, in summer, timid old ladies inquired for their mail. Having time to think, Mr. Magee pictured the horror of those ladies could they come up to the desk at Baldpate now.

Suddenly Mr. Max ran out into the center of the office. Almost on the instant there was a white puff of smoke and a roar. The inn seemed about to roll down the mountain after all those years of sticking tight. The mayor looked apprehensively up the stair behind him; Mr. Max ran to the open safe door and came back before the desk with a package in his hand. After examining it hastily, Mr. Cargan placed the loot in his pocket. The greedy eyes of Max followed it for a second; then he ran over and gathered up his tools. Now they were ready to depart. The mayor lifted the candle from the desk. Its light fell on a big chair by the fire, and Mr. Magee saw in that chair the figure of Mr. Bland, bound and gagged.

Mr. Cargan and his companion paused, and appeared to address triumphant and jesting comment in Mr. Bland's direction. Then they buttoned their coats and, holding aloft the candle, disappeared through the dining-room door.

"I must have that package." Standing on the balcony of Baldpate Inn, her yellow hair white with snow, her eyes shining even in shadow, thus had the lady of this weird drama spoken to Mr. Magee. And gladly he had undertaken the quest. Now, he knew, the moment had come to act. Max he could quickly dispose of, he felt; Cargan would require time and attention.

He hurried round to the front door of the inn, and taking the big key from his pocket, unlocked it as a means of retreat where the men he was about to attack could not follow. Already he heard their muffled steps in the distance. Crossing the veranda, he dropped down into the snow by the side of the great stone steps that led to Baldpate Inn's chief entrance.

He heard Cargan and Max on the veranda just above his head. They were speaking of trains to Reuton. In great good humor, evidently, they started down the steps. Mr. Magee crouched, resolved that he would spring the moment they reached the ground. They were on the last step—now!

Suddenly from the other side of the steps a black figure rose, a fist shot out, and Mr. Max went spinning like a whirling dervish down the snowy path, to land in a heap five feet away. The next instant the mayor of Reuton and the black figure were locked in terrific conflict. Mr. Magee, astounded by this turn of affairs, could only stand and stare through the dark.

For fifteen seconds, muttering, slipping, grappling, the two figures waltzed grotesquely about in the falling snow. Then the mayor's feet slid from under him on the treacherous white carpet, and the two went down together. As Mr. Magee swooped down upon them he saw the hand of the stranger find the mayor's pocket, and draw from it the package that had been placed there in the office a few moments before.

Unfortunately for the demands of the drama in which he had become involved, Mr. Magee had never been an athlete at the university. But he was a young man of average strength and agility, and he had the advantage of landing most unexpectedly on his antagonist. Before that gentleman realized what had happened, Magee had wrenched the package from his hand, thrown him back on the prostrate form of the highest official of Reuton, and fled up the steps. Quickly the stranger regained his feet and started in pursuit, but he arrived at the great front door of Baldpate Inn just in time to hear the lock click inside.

Safe for the moment behind a locked door, Mr. Magee paused to get his breath. The glory of battle filled his soul. It was not until long afterward that he realized the battle had been a mere scuffle in the dark. He felt his cheeks burn with excitement like a sweet girl graduate's—the cheeks of a man who had always prided himself he was the unmoved cynic in any situation.

With no thought for Mr. Bland, bound in his uneasy chair, Mr. Magee hurried up the broad staircase of Baldpate. Now came the most gorgeous scene of all. A fair-haired lady; a knight she had sent forth to battle; the knight returned. "You asked me to bring you this, my lady." Business of surprise and joy on the lady's part—business also, perhaps, of adoration for the knight.

At the right of the stairs lay seventeen and the lady, at the left a supposedly uninhabited land. As Mr. Magee reached the second floor, blithely picturing the scene in which he was to play so satisfactory a part—he paused. For half-way down the corridor to the left an open door threw a faint light into the hall, and in that light stood a woman he had never seen before. In this order came Mr. Magee's impressions of her, fur-coated, tall, dark, handsome, with the haughty manner of one engaging a chauffeur.

"I beg your pardon," she said, "but are you by any chance Mr. Magee?"

The knight leaned weakly against the wall and tried to think.

"I—I am," he managed to say.

"I'm so glad I've found you," replied the girl. It seemed to the dazed Magee that her dark eyes were not overly happy. "I can not ask you in, I'm afraid. I do not know the custom on such an occasion—does anybody? I am alone with my maid. Hal Bentley, when I wrote to him for a key to this place, told me of your being here, and said that I was to put myself under your protection."

Mr. Magee arranged a bow, most of which was lost in the dark.

"Delighted, I'm sure," he murmured.

"I shall try not to impose on you," she went on. "The whole affair is so unusual as to be almost absurd. But Mr. Bentley said that you were—very kind. He said I might trust you. I am in great trouble. I have come here to get something—and I haven't the least idea how to proceed. I came because I must have it—so much depends on it."

Prophetically Mr. Magee clutched in his pocket the package for which he had done battle.

"I may be too late." The girl's eyes grew wide. "That would be terribly unfortunate. I do not wish you to be injured serving me—" She lowered her voice. "But if there is any way in which you can help me in—in this difficulty—I can never be grateful enough. Down-stairs in the safe there is, I believe, a package containing a large sum of money."

Mr. Magee's hand closed convulsively in his pocket.

"If there is any way possible," said the girl, "I must obtain that package. I give you my word I have as much right to it as any one who will appear at the inn. The honor and happiness of one who is very dear to me is involved. I ask you—made bold as I am by my desperation and Hal Bentley's assurances—to aid me if you find you can."

With the eyes of a man in a dream Mr. Magee looked into the face of the latest comer to Baldpate.

"Hal Bentley is an old friend and a bully chap," he said. "It will be a great pleasure to serve a friend of his." He paused, congratulating himself that these were words, idle words. "When did you arrive, may I ask?"

"I believe you were having dinner when I came," she answered. "Mr. Bentley gave me a key to the kitchen door, and we found a back stairway. There seemed to be a company below—I wanted to see only you."

"I repeat," said Mr. Magee, "I shall be happy to help you, if I can." His word to another lady, he reflected, was binding. "I suggest that there is no harm in waiting until morning."

"But—I am afraid it was to-night—" she began.

"I understand," Magee replied. "The plans went wrong. You may safely let your worries rest until to-morrow." He was on the point of adding something about relying on him, but remembered in time which girl he was addressing. "Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?"

The girl drew the fur coat closer about her shoulders. She suggested to Magee a sheltered luxurious life—he could see her regaling young men with tea before a fireplace in a beautiful room—insipid tea in thimble-like cups.

"You are very kind," she said. "I hardly expected to be here the night through. It is rather cold, but I am sure we have rugs and coats enough."

Mr. Magee's duty was clear.

"I'll build you a fire," he announced. The girl seemed distressed at the thought.

"No, I couldn't let you," she said. "I am sure it isn't necessary. I will say good night now."

"Good night. If there is anything I can do—"

"I shall tell you," she finished, smiling. "I believe I forgot to give you my name. I am Myra Thornhill, of Reuton. Until to-morrow." She went in and closed the door.

Mr. Magee sat limply down on the cold stair. All the glory was gone from the scene he had pictured a moment ago. He had the money, yes, the money procured in valiant battle, but at the moment he bore the prize to his lady, another appeared from the dark to claim it. What should he do?

He got up and started for number seventeen. The girl who waited there was very charming and attractive—but what did he know about her? What did she want with this money? He paused This other girl came from Hal Bentley, a friend of friends. And she claimed to have every right to this precious package. What were her exact words?

Why not wait until morning? Perhaps, in the cold gray dawn, he would see more clearly his way through this preposterous tangle. Anyhow, it would be dangerous to give into any woman's keeping just then a package so earnestly sought by desperate men. Yes, he would wait until morning. That was the only reasonable course.

Reasonable? That was the word he used. A knight prating of the reasonable!

Mr. Magee unlocked the door of number seven and entered. Lighting his candles and prodding the fire, he composed a note to the waiting girl in seventeen:

"Everything all right. Sleep peacefully. I am on the job. Will see you to-morrow. Mr.—Billy."

Slipping this message under her door, the ex-knight hurried away to avoid an interview, and sat down in his chair before the fire.

"I must think," he muttered. "I must get this thing straight."

For an hour he pondered, threshing out as best he could this mysterious game in which he played a leading part unequipped with a book of rules. He went back to the very beginning—even to the station at Upper Asquewan Falls where the undeniable charm of the first of these girls had won him completely. He reviewed the arrival of Bland and his babble of haberdashery, of Professor Bolton and his weird tale of peroxide blondes and suffragettes, of Miss Norton and her impossible mother, of Cargan, hater of reformers, and Lou Max, foe of suspicion. He thought of the figure in the dark at the foot of the steps that had fought so savagely for the package now in his own pocket—of the girl who had pleaded so convincingly on the balcony for his help—of the colder, more sophisticated woman who came with Hal Bentley's authority to ask of him the same favor. Myra Thornhill? He had heard the name, surely. But where?

Mr. Magee's thoughts went back to New York. He wondered what they would say if they could see him now, whirling about in a queer romance not of his own writing—he who had come to Baldpate Inn to get away from mere romancing and look into men's hearts, a philosopher. He laughed out loud.

"To-morrow is another day," he reflected. "I'll solve this whole thing then. They can't go on playing without me—I've got the ball."

He took the package from his pocket. Its seals had already been broken. Untying the strings, he began carefully to unwrap the paper—the thick yellow banking manila, and then the oiled inner wrapping. So finally he opened up the solid mass of—what? He looked closer. Crisp, beautiful, one thousand dollar bills. Whew! He had never seen a bill of this size before. And here were two hundred of them.

He wrapped the package up once more, and prepared for bed. Just as he was about to retire, he remembered Mr. Bland, bound and gagged below. He went into the hall with the idea of releasing the unlucky haberdasher, but from the office rose the voices of the mayor, Max, and Bland himself. Peace, evidently, had been declared between them. Mr. Magee returned to number seven, locked all the windows, placed the much-sought package beneath his pillow, and after a half-hour of puzzling and tossing, fell asleep.

It was still quite dark when he awoke with a start. In the blackness he could make out a figure standing by the side of his bed. He put his hand quickly beneath his pillow; the package was still there.

"What do you want?" he asked, sitting up in bed.

For answer, the intruder sprang through the door and disappeared in the darkness of the outer room. Mr. Magee followed. One of his windows slammed back and forth in the wind. Slipping on a dressing-gown and lighting a candle, he made an investigation. The glass above the lock had been broken. Outside, in the snow on the balcony, were recent footprints.

Sleepily Mr. Magee procured the precious package and put it in the pocket of his gown. Then drawing on his shoes, he added a greatcoat to his equipment, took a candle, and went out on to the balcony.

The storm had increased; the snow flurried and blustered; the windows of Baldpate Inn rattled wildly all about. It was difficult to keep the candle burning in that wind. Mr. Magee followed the footprints along the east side of the inn to the corner, then along the more sheltered rear, and finally to the west side. On the west was a rather unlovely annex to the main building, which increasing patronage had made necessary. It was connected with the inn by a covered passageway from the second floor balcony. At the entrance to this passageway the footprints stopped.

Entering the dark passageway, Mr. Magee made his way to the door of the annex. He tried it. It was locked. But as he turned away, he heard voices on the other side.

Mr. Magee had barely enough time to extinguish his candle and slip into the shadows of the corner. The door of the annex opened. A man stepped out into the passageway. He stood there The light from a candle held by some one in the doorway whom Mr. Magee could not see fell full upon his face—the bespectacled wise face of Professor Thaddeus Bolton.

"Better luck next time," said the professor.

"Keep an eye an him," said the voice from inside. "If he tries to leave the inn there'll be a big row. We must be in on it—and win."

"I imagine," said Professor Bolton, smiling his academic smile, "that the inmates of Baldpate will make to-morrow a rather interesting day for him."

"It will be an interesting day for every one," answered the voice.

"If I should manage to secure the package, by any chance," the professor went on, "I shall undoubtedly need your help in getting away with it. Let us arrange a signal. Should a window of my room be open at any time to-morrow, you will know the money is in my hands."

"Very good," replied the other. "Good night—and good luck."

"The same to you," answered Professor Bolton. The door was closed, and the old man moved off down the passageway.

After him crept Mr. Magee. He followed the professor to the east balcony, and saw him pause at the open window of number seven. There the old man looked slyly about, as though in doubt. He peered into the room, and one foot was across the sill when Mr. Magee came up and touched him on the arm.

Professor Bolton leaped in evident fright out upon the balcony.

"It's—it's a wonderful night," he said. "I was out for a little walk on the balcony, enjoying it. Seeing your open window, I was afraid—"

"The night you speak so highly of," replied Mr. Magee, "is at your left. You have lost your way. Good night, Professor."

He stepped inside and closed the window. Then he pulled down the curtains in both rooms of his suite, and spent some time exploring. Finally he paused before the fireplace, and with the aid of a knife unloosed a brick. Under this he placed the package of money, removing the traces of his act as best he could.

"Now," he said, standing up, "I'm a regular hermit with a buried treasure, as per all hermit specifications. To-morrow I'm going to hand my treasure to somebody—it's too much for a man who came up here to escape the excitement and melodrama of the world."

He looked at his watch. It was past three o'clock. Entering the inner room, for the second time that night he sought to sleep. "They can't play without me—I've got the ball," he repeated with a smile. And, safe in this thought, he closed his eyes, and slumbered.