Fortunately Henry Updyke was no slave to his nerves. He could fall into slumber as his head touched the pillow, and six hours later roll out for the day. Just approaching the middle-age period, sleep meant nothing to a man of his bulk. So on this night of all nights the big fellow bolstered himself and concentrated his thoughts on the girl of his heart. He was glad that she had a mind of her own, and, on the other hand, could take advice—yet needing little. Many times he had told her to attend certain matters, to find that she had anticipated his wishes. Another thing, most pleasant to reflect upon, was that no episode of the Parkins variety had entered her life, and "By the Great Horn Spoon"—which was his most violent expletive—"there never would be!"

The thought of Parkins had a tingling effect upon Updyke, as he brought to mind a certain far-away monastery, hid away amid the timber-lands, one hundred miles northwest of Quebec. There the padrone system still flourished under the ban of a French-Canadian lumber company, and Parkins had become one of the lumber jack gang. Three years was his "sign up," after a stormy session with the big boss to whom he had been consigned by a Montreal employment bureau. To attempt an escape was to die by starvation, or wild beasts, or woodticks, it mattered not which. But the Parkins brain was not so far scrambled that he could not work himself into the good offices of the boss of the gang. He first helped the paymaster, and kept up the records. Then the paymaster took sick and Parkins became head of the accounting, for which a rude shack answered the needs of protection—at the same time, a roof for his head.

All these details of the Parkins' entourage came through on reports from Updyke's Quebec agents. Invariably, on answering, the New York office warned against too much freedom of action, for Parkins was resourceful, and might effect an escape. All this was poopoohed by the big boss at the lumber-jack camp. Just to show his confidence in Parkins he sent him to Quebec with an order for gold coin, to relieve the priests of the region, whose needs were urgent after the winter's deep snows. The scrip of the company had fallen far below par, which caused a dull roar among the thrifty tree choppers.

Long days of hard travel brought Parkins once more to the civilization of a big city, and he reveled in it. His long suffering thirst quickly turned his feet toward the hotel barroom where, with his escort, tumbler after tumbler of Scotch and soda were consumed. But Parkins was wary. He poured out large portions for his companion, but small drinks for himself. Then later, a hotel porter helped the drunken man to bed.

With his escort out of the way, Parkins hastened to the bank with the check calling for gold. The bulk of it almost filled the satchel he carried.

And now was his chance to escape on the night boat for Montreal, there to connect with railway transportation to New York. His beard and mustache of a few weeks' growth now needed a trim, as he decided to continue wearing them. At Montreal these matters were attended to, likewise the purchase of several suits of English cut, and a bag of the tourist variety, which held much, and could be plastered with foreign labels of his own selection. All this he had done during his one day in the city, and his tickets were purchased for gay old New York. From that time on he haunted the hotel bar and filled himself to the brim. As his train crept slowly out of the Montreal station in the late afternoon, Parkins' one fear was of the U. S. revenue officers across the border, who might search his bag and seize the six bottles hidden among its contents. But one flask was kept in his overcoat pocket and long before midnight its contents were gone.

Along in early hours of the following morning, about the usual time for the bath and shower, Updyke in New York heard a rap on his door. A telegram was slipped under it, as the big fellow tumbled out to see who was there. He picked up the message, and as he tore off the envelope, his mind reverted to the night of all nights that would follow this day. For that reason he eyed the yellow sheet with apprehension. It was from his Montreal Agency, and as he read its contents Updyke's eyes blazed with fury.

"Man with new growth black beard and mustache boarded New York Central train one thirty this afternoon stop arrived on night boat from Quebec stop bought new outfit clothes stop also large english bag and foreign labels stop had whiskers and mustache trimmed Van Dyck at Queens hotel stop paid all bills in Canadian gold stop changed five hundred in gold into american bank notes stop think he is your man act quick stop signed Updyke Agency."

Updyke threw on a dressing gown and methodically started the ball to rolling. His night man was just on the point of turning the office over to the day manager when the voice of the boss came through. Jackson, the night manager, answered the call and was given some quick instructions.

"Is Bloss there yet?" Updyke asked, sharply.

"Yes—just getting ready to leave."

"Give him a wire so he can listen in—also a stenographer."

"All set," said Jackson.

"Parkins has escaped unless I am badly mistaken. Listen to this telegram from Montreal"—then followed the contents of the message in a voice of staccato precision.

"Now, go to it. No doubt about this fellow being Parkins, is there?"

"Not here," answered Bloss receiving a nod from Jackson.

"You're not going to fall down on this, boys. I'm confident of that. Don't tip it to the police until you hear from me. We may have to stall him for he would be a fool to walk into Grand Central—but cover it just the same. That train makes a stop at Buffalo, Syracuse, Rochester, Albany—and sometimes at Yonkers. Use long distance, on all those cities as he may stop off and change to Pullmans attached to trains from the west. Miss Johnson was to be absent to-day but I think I'll call her anyhow. Then she will know what is going on. So long—don't get rattled—keep your noodles working—and get this man! I'll be down soon," growled the big fellow, as he hung up the receiver and set the shower going.

A little later on Mary Johnson, with a smile of anticipation, answered a ring from the telephone bell. She was sure it was Updyke, and with a laugh at his nerve for rousing her out of bed on her first day off, she finally answered the call.

"I just knew it was you," said she—"now, what about my beauty sleep!" she exclaimed, with a laugh. "I wanted to look pretty to-night."

"Everything is off for to-night," replied Updyke, manlike, not stopping to think how jarring were the words he had spoken.

Mary Johnson, unnerved, awaiting further explanation.

"Did you get that?" he asked, with equal abruptness.

"Oh, quite so!—my little dream won't come true," said she, in a queer small voice that brought Updyke back to earth in a hurry.

"Well, my dear little Mary, there is a big hustle on in our office this morning and I want you to come down. Parkins has escaped and is headed this way—due this morning. The night and day managers are both on for the day, and I need you," said Updyke, in gentle voice.

"I'll be down in an hour, dear big man, and will stay until we get him," replied Mary with her usual workaday emphasis. "Good-bye, dear, don't worry—we will run him down before night."

And so began a careful and constant search for a man who looked like Parkins until the Updyke Agency was all out of breath. Also every soul in it worn to a frazzle. But Mary Johnson failed to show a single sign of the weariness she must have felt, as with bright eyes and alert brain she steadied the forces about her. George Carver, using every Ranger on Long Island, invaded all places that offered concealment. The hut, on the outer drive, was to be watched day and night and the old home of Winifred at Patchogue had a guard inside its door. Dreamy Hollow and the Sawyer home were also included as a zone to be protected, although the reasons given seemed far-fetched and foolish.

"You never can tell," bellowed Updyke, by phone, as he warned Mrs. Bond that eternal vigilance was the price of safety, when a demented brain roamed at large.

"But I can't get to Mr. Villard," she urged as a reason for not doing more in the way of safeguarding the premises.

"Then tell Santzi I say to watch out for Mr. Villard's safety," answered Updyke—"and use Jacques on the early watch. If necessary Jerry can drive an automobile but he would not make a good night watchman."

"Very well, Mr. Updyke, I'll do as you say," said Mrs. Bond—"but for the life of me I don't see why he would want to harm Mr. Villard."

"I'll give one reason that will suffice—he thinks Mr. Villard caused him to lose Winifred Barbour."

"Well, of all the fools!" exclaimed the housekeeper.

"He may have been pretty near right, Mrs. Bond."

"Well I never was more surprised than right now," she replied.

"Good night, and don't worry," answered the big fellow. "Just keep your eyes open and call me up even if it is but a single thought that you think might have a bearing upon the case."

From that moment Mrs. Bond became a silent watcher over every circumstance that connected itself with the master of Dreamy Hollow—but a week passed by and all was serene. It must have been some one other than Parkins that wore the black beard and mustache.

"Well, Mary," said Updyke one day, as evening drew near, "I'm ready to give that little us-two party. Shall we go as we are, or shall we make it to-morrow night?"

"To-morrow night, dear—I want to look pretty when you continue that proposal," she teased. "Or is that withdrawn?"

"That will never happen, little lady. You be ready when I drive up at seven-thirty sharp to-morrow evening. After we take a little spin we will drop back to the Swathmere and dine on the roof."

"Oh, that will be tremendous!" exclaimed the delighted Miss Johnson, as she withdrew her hand from the grip of her big fellow.

An hour later, as she sat in her cozy room building air castles instead of reading the book that she held in her hand, the telephone rang, and the castles all tumbled as she answered the call.

"Am leaving for Dreamy Hollow—want to go along? It is a lovely night—moon and all that—love to have you—back in three or four hours."

"No sir!—to-morrow night—I must look my best—so early to bed for me. But Henry, do be careful. What is the trouble down there?" she asked in her most professional tone of voice.

"Oh, he wants me to come! and this is the first time since—you know what I mean," he concluded.

"Take my advice, and have one of the men along," continued the girl. "I'd feel easier, Henry."

"Very well, I'll do it to please you."

And that was the last word she heard from him until the next day at noon.

When Updyke reached Dreamy Hollow everything was in turmoil. Parkins had been there and the master lay in a comatose condition, and perhaps dying.

At seven o'clock Jacques, the chauffeur, carried a tray of light food to his master who now ate alone in his private office. An hour later he would return for the tray, which had become the nightly habit. As Jacques opened the door, on his return for the tray the muzzle of a revolver was shoved in his face.

"Hands up!" whispered a man with a mask over his nose and forehead, a growth of black whiskers concealing the rest of his face.

Frightened beyond ability to shout the servant held up his hands, and was gagged in a jiffy and his hands tied behind his back. At the point of a revolver he was motioned to lie down on the deep cushioned lounge, and by the look of the man who held the weapon, he was convinced that he must obey or be killed.

Villard, abstracted, had not even looked up from the desk where his eyes searched a document. Apparently he had been oblivious to the almost noiseless hold-up within forty feet from where he sat, his back being turned toward the great empty space over which the intruder had walked to a chair by his side. The next thing he knew he was looking into the muzzle of a revolver, with silencer attachment. That was enough. He didn't care to look at the person who held it. But in a carefully modulated voice he said—

"I am a very sick man. I'm given up to die by the doctors. I am putting my affairs in order," he concluded, but without seeming interest in how his words had been taken.

"Do you know who I am?" demanded the man, his voice husky with passion.

"Yes, William, I know you," replied Villard wearily, as the boy Jacques, alarmed, listened to the conversation.

"I've come to square accounts with you, Drury Villard. I'm a desperate character and I don't care what happens," said Parkins tearing the mask from his face. "You drove me into slavery, and all because you loved my sweetheart. You coveted my woman and you tore her from me by the use of your hirelings. You bought up the law by using Updyke's crooked bunch of highwaymen. He sicked Carver onto me, who tore my Winifred away—then your soulless lieutenant put me through a hell of mental torture—and that's what I am going to do to you!"

"I'VE COME TO SQUARE ACCOUNTS WITH YOU DRURY VILLARD!"

"Very well, William—since you have assumed to judge me by the action of another. You seized Winifred in an illegal manner. I owed the girl a certain hospitality, since I rescued her, and took her into my home where she was nursed back to life," said Villard, in a very even tone of voice.

"You rescued her!—you mean, that because she struck your fancy you gathered her up and took her into your home and tried to win her love!" shouted Parkins, not caring who heard him. "Now I want to know what you've done with her—if she is on these premises, produce her!"

"I am unable to do that."

"Then you refuse?"

"She isn't here—she hasn't been here since she went back to Patchogue."

"Is she there now?"

"No."

"Where is she—speak up Villard! I am in a dangerous mood."

"I refuse to answer," replied the old time friend and employer of Parkins.

"I'll give you one minute, and if you have not answered by that time I shall give you a 'third degree' with the butt of this gun."

All during the time that Parkins held his watch in hand Villard sat motionless and without protest. A minute seems long when one counts the slow seconds, but short, indeed, when one gives no heed.

"Last call—one—two—three—that's the way your Updyke man counted the seconds for me—four—five—six—seven—eight—nine—ten—time's up—here goes," and with that Parkins, his eyes staring, jumped to his feet and struck Villard on the back of his head in the manner he had warned.

Knocked senseless, the victim would have fallen to the floor, but his persecutor was not through with him. Jacques groaned piteously, as, helpless, he heard the blow fall, and felt sure that the master was killed.

"Shut up, you vassal, over there!" shouted Parkins, now frenzied as he chafed Villard's hands and stretched out his arms. Not effecting results, he bent the limp body over the desk and pushed the chair closely up to it. Then he ran to the tray that Jacques had put on the floor, and seized the glass of water that stood on it. This he dashed into Villard's face and slowly the huge body responded. A minute went by before he opened his eyes and tried to stagger to his feet, but Parkins, remorseless, shoved him back in the chair.

"Wake up and talk—where is she?"

Only a moaning sound gave answer.

"You old cradle robber, why don't you speak up in defense of yourself. It was all right for you to love her, but for me it was a crime! I always treated her right, until you put false notions in her head. When I finally rose out of a sick bed and got her back into my care, where she belonged, your big Wall Street hireling set his dogs loose and they finally ran me down."

"I'll go to my bed," said Villard, trying to rise from his seat.

"You'll stay where you are and die in that chair if you make a move to leave it! Where is the girl you stole!" he shouted, his eyes flaming with hate.

At that moment the far door opened and the faces of Santzi and Jerry came into view. One glance, and they yelled as if stricken with nightmare, then ran out and shouted to the watchman.

By the time they returned Parkins had flown.

Villard, however, now lying full length upon the floor, was in need of quick attention. Dr. Sawyer was sent for, and Dr. Benton was phoned. Pending their arrival the master was picked up and carried to the couch where Jacques had laid helpless as he listened to Parkins' cruel words. When his master fell to the floor, he rolled off and groaned.

And it was just at this time that Updyke rolled in, without knowledge of the terrible tragedy that had been enacted. When told, he thanked his stars that Mary Johnson had not joined him in his moonlight excursion. Then he thought of the leisurely run he had made and bitterly accused himself of procrastination. Ten minutes would have saved Villard from possible death, and he had "fooled" away half an hour by slow driving.

Once in action, however, the big fellow gave quick account of himself. He threw off his coat, called for ammonia, and then began to move the victim's arms and legs, and peeped at the whites of his eyes. One whiff of the bottle caused the injured man to stir, the cold water applications resulting in the definite movement of the arms and legs. Suspended animation was quickly released.

When Dr. Benton arrived Updyke looked on for a moment, and then began to collect the facts. He knew that Parkins had been the assailant from first description and now was his chance to learn from Jacques the details of the crime, particularly of the words spoken by Parkins to Villard. Still trembling, the youngster, assisted by Updyke, promptly gave a well-connected story of the affair, and with that to go on, the big fellow cleared the private office, and warned against interruptions while he was engaged with Long Distance.

Meanwhile, by his order, no one on the premises should leave it, nor should any one talk about the case.

"I don't want a word to leak about this," said he to Mrs. Bond. "Mr. Villard was in no way to blame for it, therefore he should not be subjected to wild rumors that would involve his good name and that of a pure young woman now happily married."

"I will talk to all of the servants and appeal to their sense of justice, for they all love the master," replied Mrs. Bond. "That we will all keep mum, you may be sure."

"And it wouldn't be a bad idea to throw a scare in along with the rest. For instance, if anything leaks out about this I'll know where it comes from in a very few hours, and that will bring trouble for whoever is guilty. You make that strong, Mrs. Bond, for I mean every word of it," said Updyke, pointing a very large finger at the fat little housekeeper.

"I'll do the best I can," sighed Mrs. Bond.

"Well, I am sure of that, and you keep everybody on their toes until I arrange my plans. We'll sleep in relays to-night, but to-morrow I'll throw a human network around this place."

Hour upon hour the big fellow with his mouth to the phone, spread the web for the human spider that had crawled out into the black of night. Sawyer came in with news concerning Villard from time to time, but Updyke, grim and preoccupied, merely nodded his head and motioned him back to the sick man. At midnight he finally succeeded in arousing George Carver, who with his bride had been bridge-whisting all evening in a near-by home.

"I need you, George," appealed Updyke, "but you get about three hours' sleep before we talk about it. I don't want you to lose the much needed rest from now until three A. M., over something that I am going to ask you to do. I'll call you at sharp three, and at three thirty your flivver will be in front of your hotel—good night."

"Good night, you old sleep burglar. I'll turn in at once," replied Carver—and the web was complete.