I’LL be cursed if I don’t think I ought to hire a real detective and put him onto the inside affairs in this office,” was Chief Mern’s ireful opinion after he had listened to Crowley and Miss Elsham when they reported in from the north country. They were voluble in their own behalf, but their talk was slippery, so the chief felt. They were also voluble in regard to Lida Kennard, but Mern found himself more than ever enmeshed in his guesswork about that mysterious young lady.

Crowley kept shifting off the topic onto his own prowess, patting himself on the breast and claiming all the credit for getting Latisan off his job.

Miss Elsham, on her part, kept lighting fresh cigarettes and was convincing on only one point: “No more wild men of the woods for me. Never again in the tall timber. I’ll do night and day shifts in the cafÉs if you ask me to. And I’ve got a knickerbocker suit that’s for sale!”

Mern had several interviews with the two, trying to understand.

When the blustering Crowley was present Miss Elsham allowed him to claim all the credit and made no protest.

Alone with Mern, she declared that Buck was a big bluff, but she was not especially clear in her reports on his methods.“But what has become of Kennard?”

“I don’t know. Lynched, maybe. They were threatening to do it to Buck and me before we got away.”

One thing seemed to be true—Mern had a wire from Brophy in reply to an inquiry: Ward Latisan had gone away and was staying away.

And Rufus Craig, arriving in the city, telephoned the same information to the chief and promised to call around and settle.

Crowley was informed of that confirmation, and grinned and again patted his breast and claimed the credit.

“All right,” allowed the chief, “you’re in for your slice of the fee. But if you’re lying about Kennard I’ll make you suffer for deserting her.”

“I stand by what I have said. She was double-crossing us.”

Later, Crowley began to inquire casually from time to time whether Miss Kennard had sent in any word. He was not good at concealing his thoughts, and he was manifestly worried by the prospect of possible developments, but Mern was not able to pin him down to anything specific. As a matter of fact, Crowley had not fathomed the mystery of Miss Kennard’s actions in Adonia and was not in a way to do so by any processes of his limited intelligence; he admitted as much to himself.

He was clumsy in his efforts to extract from the chief something in regard to the report which supposedly had been sent in by Miss Kennard, and Mern’s suspicions were stirred afresh. He gave Crowley no information on that point; one excellent reason why he did not do so was this: Miss Kennard had not sent in any report. Mern was still waiting to hear from her as to certain details; he wanted to talk with her. Crowley ventured to state that she had left Adonia, and he suggested that she was on the trail of Latisan. The operative, pressed for reasons why she was still pursuing Latisan, if the drive master had been separated from his job by Crowley, averred that, according to his best judgment, the girl had gone crazy. That statement did not satisfy Mern, but it enabled Crowley to avoid tripping too often over inconsistencies.

Under those circumstances the uneasy feeling persisted in Chief Mern that the Latisan case was not finished, in spite of Craig’s compliments and Crowley’s boasts and Miss Elsham’s bland agreement as to facts as stated, though with avoidance of details.

Mern usually shut down the cover on a case as soon as the point had been won; he had found in too many instances that memory nagged; he had assured Craig that having to do what a detective chief was called on to do in his business had not given him the spirit of a buccaneer.

But in this case the lack of candor in his operatives disturbed him, though he did not presume to arraign them; he could not do that consistently; in the interests of his peace of mind he had always assured his workers that they need not trouble him with details after a job had been done.

Crowley, mystified, had said nothing about the amazing love affair. It occurred to him that the protestations of Miss Kennard might have been a part of her campaign of subtlety, interrupted by his smashing in; he was more than ever convinced that his was not the kind of mind that could deal with subtlety.

Miss Elsham never mentioned Latisan’s apparent infatuation; she had been sent north in the rÔle of a charmer and did not propose to confess to Mern that she had failed utterly to interest the woodsman.

Undoubtedly the reticence of both of them was merciful; to heap this crowning burden upon Chief Mern’s bewilderment in regard to the actions of a trusted employee would have disqualified him mentally for other cases which were coming along.

Crowley loafed diligently at the Vose-Mern offices when he was not out on duty; there was no knowing when he might be able to turn a trick for the good of the concern by being on hand, he told himself, and for one of his bovine nature all waiting around was easy and all stalls were alike.

Therefore, one day he was on hand to rush a quick tip to the chief. Crowley turned his back on a caller who entered the main office; the bulletin bearer hurried into Mern’s presence.

“It’s the big boy from the bush—Latisan!”

“Ugly?”

“I didn’t wait to see.”

“You have told me straight, have you, about his being a bad actor when he’s riled?”

“That’s the real dope on him, Chief. Don’t let him in to see you—that’s my advice.”

Mern took a little time for thought, inspecting his operative narrowly.

“I ain’t intending to butt in, you understand,” apologized Crowley, reddening.“I think that’s good advice, speaking from the standpoint of prudence.”

“There’s no good in hashing the thing over with him; he’s off the job and I claim the credit and——”

“But from the standpoint of curiosity,” broke in Mern, relentlessly, “I’ll be almighty glad to have a talk with him. I’ll probably get some facts now. Shut up! If you have come back and told me all the truth I wouldn’t be taking a chance with this man. You’re to blame! Remember that another time. Beat it!” He jabbed his thumb in the direction of a door which enabled clients to leave without going back through the main office.

“A man named Latisan,” reported the door boy.

“Tell him to come in.”

Crowley turned the knob of the catch lock and dodged out into the corridor.

Mern stood up to receive the caller.

He was not inspired by politeness. He was putting himself in an attitude of defense and was depending on the brawn of a man who had been a tough proposition when he swung his police club on a New York beat. He even moved a chair which might get underfoot in a rough-and-tumble. But his muscles relaxed when he looked at the man who entered.

Latisan was deprecatory, if his manners were revealing his feelings. He was apologetic in his mien before he spoke; he gave Mern the impression of a man whose spirit was broken and whose estimate of himself had gone far toward condemnation. And Mern read aright! The bitter dregs of days and nights of doleful meditation were in Latisan—the memory of aimless venturings into this or that corner where he could hide away, the latest memory of the stale little room in a cheap New York hotel persisting most vividly in his shamed thoughts because he had penned himself there day after day, trying to make up his mind to do this or that—and, especially at the nadir of what he felt was his utter degradation, had he dwelt on the plan of ending it all, and from time to time had turned on a gas jet and sniffed at the evil fumes, wondering of what sort would be death by that means. To think that he would descend to that depth of cowardice! Nevertheless, he was not especially surprised by this weakness, even while he hated himself for entertaining such a base resolve. One after the other, right and left, the blows in his business affairs had crashed down on him. He understood those attacks, and he was still able to fight on. But the enemy that had ambuscaded him behind the guise of the first honest love of his experience had killed faith and pride and every tender emotion that enables a man to fight the ordinary battles of life.

Therefore, he ventured into the presence of Mern with down-hunched shoulders under the sagging folds of a ready-made coat, bought from the pile in an up-country village.

“Well, what can I do for you, sir?” demanded Mern, relieved of apprehension, seeing his advantage and more coldly curt than usual in his dealings with men whom he could bully.

“I had this address,” faltered Latisan; he pulled from his pocket a sheet of paper which had been crumpled into a mass and then folded back into its original creases. “I was thinking—I’ve been sort of planning—I thought I’d come around and ask you——” It was one of the things, this errand, for which he had been trying to summon resolution while he sat in the stuffy room, glancing up at the gas jet.

Mern jerked away the paper, noting that its letterhead was his own. It was his epistle to one “Miss Patsy Jones, Adonia,” demanding from her information as to just what she was doing as an operative for the Vose-Mern agency.

“It’s about Miss Jones. I thought I’d step in——”

“Well?” demanded Mern when Latisan paused.

“That’s her real name, is it? I know how detectives——”

“It’s her real name,” stated Mern, of a mind to protect her until he was convinced that she did not deserve protection by him.

“She works for you?”

“She does.”

“Could I see her for a few minutes—for a few words——”

“I don’t think so,” hedged the chief. “Just why do you want to see Miss Jones?”

“I’ve been thinking matters over. I did a terrible thing when I was sort of out of my mind. She had something to say to me and I didn’t wait to hear it. Perhaps I have made a mistake. Now I’d like to talk with her and find out about something.”

“Just what?” probed Mern.

“I can’t say right now. It’s between us two, Miss Jones and myself—at least I thought it was. I’m going to have a talk with her before I tell anything to anybody else.” He declared that stubbornly.

“How do I know what your scheme is? You’re probably holding a grudge against one of my operatives. I can’t turn her over to you to be harmed.”

Latisan straightened. “I shall not harm her by a word or a touch.”

“I suppose you hold a grudge against this agency, don’t you?”

“The Comas company—Craig, rather—hired you to do a thing, and it has been done. Craig is the one with a grudge; it’s against me. I trigged him. I reckon he has a right to get even, as he looks at it, if his money can buy what you have to sell.”

“We don’t like to do some of the things that are put up to us, Latisan. But I may as well be out and open with you. Craig paid us a lot of money when we broke the strike for him. We have to consider business. That’s why we went ahead and got you, as we did. If you had been able to turn around and get us, I would not have held any hard feelings. It’s all in the game.” There was no especial sympathy in Mern’s tone; he was treating a victim with a patronizing air.

“I’m afraid I’m not up to tricks enough to play that game,” retorted Latisan. “We’ll have to let it stand as it is. I’m sort of trying to clear up my mind about the whole matter, so as to put it behind me. I don’t want to feel that there’s any mistake about Miss Jones. That’s why I’d like to see her once more.”

He was showing nervous anxiety.

It came to Mern that here was offered an opportunity to go even farther with Latisan than the contract had demanded. Now that the man had been pulled off the drive, a little shrewd maneuvering would hold him in New York, away from the Flagg interests, until the Comas folks could have their way. No doubt Craig would consider that the extra service was an acceptable bonus, over and above what the agency had done.

“I’ll tell you.” Mern was affable. “Miss Jones is away on another case. She is likely to report ’most any time. The best way for you is to drop in each day, say around three o’clock in the afternoon. I think she will be glad to explain anything you’re now puzzled about. You still think, do you, you’d better not tell me?” The chief’s curiosity, his desire to dig into the doings of his operatives, urged him to solicit Latisan again. “My advice——”

“I don’t want it. I don’t take any stock in a man who does the kind of work you’re up to,” declared Latisan, bluntly. “I don’t take much stock in anybody, any more. I may be a fool for wanting to see that young lady again—but I’ll call in to-morrow.”

“About three!” Mern reminded him, having an object in setting that hour.

Latisan nodded and went away.

The chief called the Comas corporation offices and got Director Craig on the telephone. When Mern announced his identity, Craig evidently supposed that it was a matter of a dun and broke in, chuckling: “I’ll bring the check in to-morrow. I’d have done so, anyway, for I plan to start north right away. What’s the matter, Mern? Grabbing for the coin because you are afraid the job isn’t going to stay put?”

“That isn’t the idea at all. I simply want to show you something which will prove that the money has been well earned. I’ll show you Latisan.”“I don’t care to meet that gentleman right now. Oh no!”

“I’ll plant you where you won’t be seen. You can view Exhibit A. I think I’ll be able to promise that Latisan is going to stay here in New York. That ought to make you feel safer when you go back north into the jungle. No tiger behind a tree!”

“Say, I’ll hand you that check like daddy giving a stick of candy to the baby!” said Craig with hearty emphasis. “I’ll own up that I have been killing time here in the city, waiting to get a line on Latisan—where he is. I have found that he’s a lunatic when he’s ugly—and there’s no telling how far a grudge will drive a man in the big woods. So he’s here in town?”

“Yes, and I’m rigging hopples to keep him here, I tell you. Come in at two forty-five. See the tame tiger!”

Then Mern called in Crowley, who was very ill at ease, but was obstinately and manifestly at bay. “Let’s see. Didn’t I understand you to say, Buck, that Miss Kennard had gone chasing Latisan?”

“That’s the way I figured it.”

“You’re wrong. He’s chasing her. That’s why he came in here.”

The chief had snarled, “You’re wrong,” in a peculiarly offensive tone. Mr. Crowley, after his proclaimed success in the Latisan case, had come up a number of notches in self-esteem and was inclined to dispute an allegation that he was wrong in that matter or in anything else. He was provoked into disclosures by sudden resentment. “She stood out there in the public street and said she was in love with him and would marry him after the drive was down, and she grabbed up his cap and coat when he ran away, and if it ain’t natural to suppose that she was going to chase him up and hand ’em over, then what?”

“Look here, Crowley, what kind of a yarn is this?”

“It’s true.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“It didn’t have anything to do with the case, as I was working it. It was a side issue!” Crowley raised his voice, insisting on his own prowess. “The idea was to get him off the job—and I did it. I claim——”

“You infernal, damnation lunkhead, get out of my office till I calm down,” raged the chief.

He yelped at Crowley when the operative was at the door: “Go hunt up Elsham and bring her here. It looks to me as if Kennard was foxier than the dame I sent, and has turned the trick in her own way.”

“I ain’t afraid of questions,” declared the operative. “They’ll only bring out that I’m right when I claim the credit.”

He hastened to shut the door behind him. Mern acted as if he were looking for a missile.

“But where is she? Why in the blue blazes doesn’t she report in?” muttered the chief, worriment wrinkling his forehead. On the face of things, it seemed that, valuable as Miss Kennard had been as confidential secretary, she was still more valuable as a skillful operative—and Chief Mern was earnestly desirous of having her back on the job.