When "Number 12" reached Patchogue "The Goody Shop" was on the point of being closed. The girl in charge, and a man she called "father," were instructing a young woman how to run the stand for the next two days. They had all but put up the night shutters as the operative climbed off of his machine.

"Any sandwiches left?" he enquired, racing to the stand.

"Oh, yes—a few nice ones, and some very fine blueberry pie," replied the older girl as smilingly she displayed several huge wedges of assorted pies. "And here's a lovely slice of lemon meringue, the last one left," she urged, and at a nod from her customer, handed it to him on a pasteboard plate, together with a dainty paper napkin.

As the operative put his plate upon the sill of the stand and began to eat, the two girls and "father" continued their conversation about a grand ride over to New York next day. Listening in on the conversation he learned which girl was going on the trip—her friend called her Winifred—and when she spoke to the man she addressed him as Mr. Barbour.

"I wish you were going along, Julie," said the girl Winifred, very much delighted. Then she said—"Mr. Parkins is taking us in his big four-passenger roadster—how many horse powers has it, father? It must be a lot—something like several hundred I would think from the noise it makes sometimes."

"No, it's a ninety," corrected her father who seemed proud of his better knowledge.

"What time do you leave for New York?" enquired the girl, Julie.

"Mr. Parkins is to pick us up at the house at ten to-morrow morning. And then, away we go!—just whizzing along Merrick Road so we can see all of the beautiful homes along the Bay—and the Sound coming back! My, but he drives fearfully fast! I expect to be frozen with fright by the time we arrive in the city."

Having fallen into all of the information he could have wished for, "Number 12" suddenly quit on his second wedge of pie and asked which was the best hotel nearby. "Roadside Inn" was pointed out just across the street, and rolling his motorcycle beside him he walked over and went inside.

Once in his room "Number 12" got busy. Looking at his watch he concluded that Updyke would be at his hotel, but that was up to Central. "Updyke" was all he needed to say and in less than a minute he had his man.

"All right, shoot," came the regular answer by which "the big boss" announced himself—"Number 12?" he queried.

"Yep—got the whole works. Am at Patchogue, Roadside Inn, phone Patchogue—twenty. The father rather old and solemn, neither ever saw New York before, and never off of the island. Has a pie stand on the parkway—darn good pies too."

"Soft enough, I'd say," replied Updyke. "Shall I run a man out to you to-night?"

"Why not come out yourself—if it's an important case?"

"No—if he gets away from you I'll nab him here. He's up to his regular tricks—the scoundrel!—now don't you fail to nail that fellow!" warned Updyke, to whom the whole situation was as plain as daylight from darkness. "Trail him and keep me posted on the route he has taken. No doubt he'll cross on the Queensborough bridge."

Running true to form the Parkins roadster roared its way into Patchogue next morning, and the operative quietly registered on his tab—"one brandy and soda at Roadside Inn." Immediately afterward Parkins jumped into his car and ran slowly two streets west and turned north one block. The Updyke man did not have to leave his chair on the porch of the hotel in order to witness the movements of the big car. There was a hasty carrying out of two suitcases, and a hamper probably containing luncheon. Then the big car turned back to the south on the Merrick Road and proceeded west at a lively clip.

Shortly thereafter, "Number 12" trailed in at a safe distance behind, and it was with much skill that he kept the roadster in view, but never in a way to attract Parkins' notice. The girl sat in front, and by the way she turned her head and indicated pretty homes to her father it was evident that her mind was carefree.

Not knowing the inside history of the case, the operative rode stolidly along behind. Coming to a roadhouse in one of the villages he stopped and phoned Updyke, all done in less than three minutes—then he crowded on the gas until he came in sight of the party. Almost at once he lost them again by reason of sharp turns in the road, but all was well, and he had no fear of losing them, for miles ahead there was no other road to turn into.

Three minutes later he came upon a sight that made his blood run cold. There, around the curve, in a hollow just ahead, were two cars overturned and smashed beyond repair!

Strange are the ways of Providence.

There are times when coincidence and circumstances blend into episodes for which there is no accounting—an act of God—in terms of legal phrasing. As Parkins' car took a curve in the road at high speed going west, Drury Villard and his neighbor, Dr. Sawyer—out for a leisurely spin with Santzi at the wheel—were on the same road heading east.

The day was especially fine, and with top down the Villard car sped along the concrete road without a jolt or a jar. Sawyer, in a most excellent mood, was inclined to speak jokingly of the Parkins episode at Dreamy Hollow two days previously. But to all of his sallies Villard failed to answer in kind. Certain "messages" were on his mind, and along with them a mixture of joy and sorrow combined. Could another Winifred answer the call of his yearning? Could his heart go out to any other than the Winifred of old? He doubted it, but he owed it to his dead love to await certain events, since she had urged the duty upon him.

So absorbed was he in contemplating the situation that he was quite unprepared for the sudden application of the emergency brakes. His car was rounding a curve at a healthy speed when suddenly Santzi pulled up short, just in time to avoid the wreckage of two monster machines overturned in collision. Each had been smashed into a veritable mass, and the silence of the scene served to accentuate the gruesome aspect of the otherwise beautiful surroundings. Suddenly a tall man with hair of iron gray staggered to his feet and shouted—"Winifred!"

"Winifred!" echoed Villard, jumping from his car. In a second more Sawyer, hastening to alight, called upon Santzi to rush along for a doctor, and to notify the motor police.

Villard, who stood spellbound on hearing the name he adored, soon forced himself into action. Instantly the words that were whispered to him in the early morning hours came to mind. "It is myself, incarnate, that you will marry—You will meet her soon—There will be an accident—You will give assistance."

He saw a man, hatless and bleeding, rushing madly about calling the name Winifred. Villard again took up the cry.

"Winifred!—Winifred!" he shouted, running from point to point amid the wreckage.

His search was soon successful.

Of several persons strewn about the roadside he knew instinctively, when he had stooped over the form of the one he sought. He dropped to his knees and seized her hands, chafing them vigorously to renew suspended animation. He placed his hand upon her brow, and raised an eyelid—then bent over and put his ear to her heart.

"Winifred," he whispered softly. "Wake up, dear child!"

Then jumping to his feet he shouted to her father:

"Here she is, sir—and she's coming back to life! Water, Sawyer—find a thermos bottle! There must be one somewhere in the wreckage."

To Villard all else in the world was naught but this beautiful child woman whose head and body rested against his breast. As if paralyzed her father looked on, mute and despairing.

"Splash some on her cheeks," he commanded of Sawyer, who hastened forward with the bottle from one of the upturned cars.

"More—more—ah—that's the stuff—water! See? She is breathing again, and I doubt that she is very much injured. We'll soon know," he said to himself as he began, ever so gently, to raise her arms, and nether limbs one by one. Then he laid her, full length, upon the grass, and pillowed her head with his motor coat.

"She doesn't cry out—no bones broken—thank God!—just bruised, and shocked by the impact after fall," he explained to the dazed father with quiet gentleness. "Get some cushions out of the wreck and we'll make her comfortable under the shade of a tree."

Almost immediately a man on a motorcycle dashed upon the scene and with difficulty stopped in time. Throwing his machine to one side he ran quickly to the big roadster—"Number 12" had literally run his man to earth. There lay the inanimate form of William Parkins with the pallor of death upon his face, and a bleeding wound well back of his left ear near the occipital bone. His body was pinned beneath his heavy roadster.

"The man is alive—give me a hand!" shouted "Number 12" to Barbour, who, still dazed, had fallen to his knees in prayer for his daughter's life. But, he made no answer, thereupon Sawyer responded as best he could for a man of his age. It was more than a one-man job to raise the tonneau of the big machine in order to allow Sawyer to drag the limp body from beneath the wreck.

A retired doctor himself he knew how to manage the situation better than the man who still called for his girl.

"I know this fellow," said Sawyer, breathing hard from his effort in helping to release the unconscious man under the roadster.

"Who is he?" demanded the motorcycle man, incredulous.

"His name is Parkins, unless I am greatly mistaken," replied Sawyer, still puzzled, but practically sure.

"You're right," agreed the man who had been trailing the victim for nearly an hour. "He is a bad actor, and it was my intention to arrest him on the New York side of Williamsburg bridge. I'd hate to have him croak before my boss sees him," he concluded, and then fell to his knees and began the work of bringing Parkins back to life.

"What is he wanted for?" asked Sawyer, after several moments of hesitation.

"I'll have to refer you to my boss as to that. I was told to get him, and it's up to me to find a way to deliver him. You can bet that he is going to have a long dry spell after the old man gets through with him," sneered the operative as he looked upon the limp figure now stretched out upon the grassy roadside.

"Whom do you mean by 'old man'?" enquired Sawyer.

"My boss—and what he doesn't know about people! Well, what's the use to speculate? I had a hard time keeping Parkins in sight. Forty to sixty miles was his gait. Pretty fast for a narrow concrete roadbed."

Parkins now began to breathe heavily, and moan. Anxious that Villard should be apprised concerning him, Sawyer walked hastily over to where he sat, still holding the girl's wrist and counting the pulsations.

"The man we took from under the big car is William Parkins," said he, laconically. "He will live—probably."

Drury Villard looked up in amazement.

"You don't mean it!" he exclaimed.

"Yes—it's Parkins—still Vice President of your company!"

Sawyer looked steadily into Villard's upturned eyes, and shook his head ominously. "Bad news to get into the papers, Drury. What do you suggest?"

Receiving no answer Sawyer stood thoughtfully stroking his chin until his mind had settled the matter.

"I will take Parkins into my home until we can think out a plan of action," he said, finally. "You take the girl and her father into your home for the present. Then there will be no chance for news to leak. Mrs. Bond will look out for her."

"How about the doctor?" replied Villard, thoughtfully. "He might——"

"Doctors are like lawyers; they serve well those who pay well—especially when the public interest is better served thereby."

"First-class reasoning, friend Sawyer. Our plan is made. When Santzi returns we'll take both patients and the girl's father into my car and race for home. What about the other machine—any one hurt?"

"No, just a colored chauffeur returning with an empty car from the city. He jumped in time to save himself and is now waiting for some one to take the wreck to the nearest garage. It is pretty well smashed, but the boy is unscathed."

With plans all mapped out they were quickly put into execution. Upon the return of Santzi with Doctor Benton, who followed in his runabout, the medical man at once put his ear to the girl's heart—then, to make sure, used his stethoscope.

"We'll get her over to Dreamy Hollow at once," said he, glancing at Villard, who nodded affirmatively. "Her heart is beating strong enough, but she must not see this wreck when she comes out of her present state. Put her into your car at once, while I take a look at the man lying on the grass. Who is the old fellow over there praying?" he inquired sharply.

"The girl's father," replied Sawyer, shaking his head sadly. His sympathy was genuine.

"I'll take him in with me," volunteered Doctor Benton, but Villard objected as he wanted to talk with the father of the girl.

Under orders Santzi drove back to Dreamy Hollow without a bump against his tires. During the short time occupied by the trip the father of the girl gave his name as Alexander Barbour, of Patchogue, and also stated that his daughter Winifred was his only child. Her mother, long since dead, left her, a tiny new-born babe, to remind him of her own dear self. Without the child, he might easily have gone crazy from grief and loneliness, but little Winifred had steadied him every step of his way by her sweetness of disposition and her loving consideration.

"I dread the time when the right man comes for her," he sighed. "Now, she is mine, but some day her mate will call and she will go to him."

Alexander Barbour was deeply moved by the thought of the sad fate in store for himself.

"But that should not worry you," said Villard. "Make a bargain with the man she marries that you are privileged to live near by and may visit your daughter as often as you desire. No decent husband would deny that right," he concluded, smiling into the father's eyes.

"I'll be glad if it turns out that way—usually it doesn't. But in any event I should miss her sadly. She hears from her mother every little while."

"What!"

Drury Villard could hardly realize that this unconscious little child-woman possessed such powers.

"Yes, her mother tells her what to do, and gives her messages from others to be delivered to earthly friends. She got word through her mother last night from some one by the name of Winifred. She is reticent on the subject, but I know that she regards the advice as sacred."

Running his fingers through his hair nervously, Barbour admitted that her power was, to him, a great mystery, but as to the revelations he remained silent, as if in awe concerning them.

Twenty minutes later Mrs. Bond, the housekeeper at Dreamy Hollow, stood speechless at the porte-cochÈre as she beheld her master alighting from his car with a woman in his arms. Amazed, the good lady reached out as if to take the fair burden from him, but Villard demurred. He had held her in his arms during the ride and he would risk no accidental stumble on the stairway. Turning to Santzi he ordered him in a low voice to drive Dr. Sawyer to his home, and to help him with Parkins until the doctor arrived.

"He's coming on behind us and will be here any moment. He will go to Dr. Sawyer's as soon as he gets through here," added Villard.

So saying, the master of Dreamy Hollow, with careful step mounted the grand stairway leading to the second floor. Mrs. Bond had rushed on ahead to the "hospital" suite, so-called, because of its equipment for emergencies and its wonderful outlook over South Bay, with its miles of magnificent gardens. Ever so gently he laid his fair burden upon the bed prepared for her and after gazing into her beautiful face, turned and left the room. As he approached the head of the stairway he met Doctor Benton coming up, and with him, Mr. Barbour, whose face still showed the agony of his mind. To him Villard said—

"Don't go in—she is being put to bed by Mrs. Bond. We'll wait in the room next door, until the doctor gets through. This room you will occupy until all is well with your daughter," he concluded as he smiled into the troubled face of the anxious father.

Doctor Benton, after a brief examination, arose from his chair beside the patient, a broad smile lighting up his face.

"No medicine, plenty of fresh air, water if she asks for it. I'll be back in an hour. I must get to that man Parkins. He is bad off, and may not get through," said he, hastening away.

At once Mrs. Bond went to the room occupied by the father of the girl and beckoned Villard into the hall. As he appeared she motioned him to follow her into the room where Winifred had been tenderly placed on a downy bed, and a coverlet thrown about her.

"She's all tucked in and looks like an angel," she whispered, tip-toeing up to the bedside, with Villard closely following. "Isn't she the sweetest thing you ever saw?—the doctor left no medicine—says she's all right!"

Villard stood silent for more than a minute before replying, but it was evident that he yearned for the speedy recovery of the charming creature.

"I wish she would open her eyes—I've never seen them yet, although I held her in my arms for ten minutes," he replied, whimsically—and strange to say Winifred's eyes did open—bright as diamonds they were, but with no sense of recollection until she had gazed upon the face of Drury Villard.

At once a vague expression of happiness came over her fair features, but faintly smiling and with eyes closed, she went back to sleep.

Villard, now buoyant, grasped Mrs. Bond's arm and led her out of the room. When they were safely out of hearing he stopped abruptly and looked into her face.

"Did you observe that she recognized me?" he asked eagerly.

"I did," replied Mrs. Bond. "It gave me a start, for I felt that neither of you had seen each other before to-day."

"That's true—we have not met before. But how may we account for the fact, that after she looked into each of our faces, mine was the one she thought she knew?"

"I give it up, unless she was directed by that Divinity which shapes our destinies," replied the housekeeper, with much feeling.

Hastening to Barbour's room he opened the door without formality and found his guest upon his knees in silent prayer. Touched at the sight he went forward and knelt beside him, placing a hand upon his shoulder. Then he whispered into his ear—

"She is safe—the doctor says so—your prayer has been answered even as you made your wishes known. You should look upon her sweet face—come with me," appealed Villard as he helped the grief-stricken father to his feet and escorted him to the bedside where his child, with a smile on her lips, still slept. But the fact that she lived was enough joy for Alexander Barbour.