So unexpected was the girl’s attack that Pape felt at a loss how best to meet it. At his look of confusion, she continued in quick, fierce tones:

“I can’t see how my affairs concern you. How dare you question me? Why are you around, anyhow, here and at the—— How did you happen to open that safe so easily? Who and what are you—I insist on an answer?”

“My dear, don’t let excitement make you unreasonable,” Mrs. Sturgis intervened. “Mr. Pape is a detective from the Arsenal. I’ve told you that. Jasper brought him over after I——”

“He isn’t. I know very much better. He is nothing of the sort.” The girl arose and straightened before him, all strength now. “I suppose you expect me to tell you all about everything like a little—like a ninny. Well, I won’t. I won’t tell you anything. You tell me!”

“Don’t mind in the least. Fact, I’d gladly tell you a lot about the who and what of Peter Stansbury Pape, but you’re not in a mood to hear. Out in Montana, where I hail from, we think a lot of straight friendship. If you could trust me, Miss Lauderdale, perhaps I’d be able to demonstrate the sort of friendship I mean.”

“Well, I can’t trust you.”

“Pardon me. Yes, you can.”

He faced her with an emphasized look of that sincerity which before had compelled her. But she shifted her eyes stubbornly and insisted:

“It’s very strange that on this particular night, when I was to be robbed of something that matters more to me than—It does seem very strange, your forcing your way in as you did.”

“He didn’t force his way in. I tell you I sent for him,” said Aunt Helene.

Pape, however, nodded in agreement. “It was and is strange. I ain’t contradicting you, notice. Everything to-night seems mighty strange—to me, as well as to you. If you’d just stop to consider that all friends are strangers to start with, if you’d yield to your instinct, which won’t lead you astray in my case, if you’d tag what’s worrying you so that I could know where we’re headed for——”

Again Mrs. Sturgis interrupted, this time from excitement within herself. She seized Jane’s arm by way of claiming that difficult young relative’s attention.

“It has just occurred to me what—Jane Lauderdale, do you mean for one minute to tell me that you’ve found——”

“I don’t mean to tell anything.”

The click of the girl’s voice silenced further importunities. Mrs. Sturgis clasped her hands tightly from nervous suppression, her continued mutterings clipped by a knife-like look from Jane.

“I do think you ought to tell if by hook or crook you’ve found— There now, don’t flare up again! I don’t wonder, poor dear, that you’re upset. Just remember that I’m upset, too. And I can’t help feeling a little hurt that you don’t show more confidence in one who has done her best to keep you from missing the mother who— But there, we won’t speak of that now. What do you make of the case Mr. Po—Pape? What does your professional instinct tell you?”

In truth, Why Not Pape’s “professional” instinct had not been very communicative. But the result of his unprofessional investigation—Jane’s distress, climaxing in her suspicion of him—had brought him through a conclusive mental process. There had been a robbery and a peculiar one. Money, bonds and valuable jewelry had been passed by in the theft of an unnamed something vitally precious to a girl whom he had offered to befriend.

Already much valuable time had been lost through Mrs. Sturgis’ incertitude, her summons of Jane and Jane’s unwitting summons of himself. His impulsive participation was delaying the more expert search which should have been instigated at once. The thief might have escaped through his interposition of himself. He felt that he ought to make amends if the time for such had not already passed.

Through this mental summary, accomplished during the moment that followed the matron’s demand, Pape managed the appearance of a man in deep study. At its conclusion——

“Looks like an inside job,” he declared.

“By inside you mean— Please don’t suspect any one within my household.” Mrs. Sturgis’ color rose with the advice.

“I have no right to suspect any one—not yet, madam. I am considering only known facts. Your safe has been robbed within the last few hours of the contents of this heirloom snuff-box. I assume, Miss Lauderdale, that you are ready to swear your treasure was inside the box when you entrusted it to your aunt?”

“You may—” Jane crisply. “I am not given to figments of the imagination.”

“I congratulate you, miss. The safe was opened by no ordinary robber, as proved by the valuables left. Somebody who appreciated the contents of—of Miss Lauderdale’s treasure committed the theft and in such a hurry that he or she did not wait to extract the contents, but took box and all. Later this person, not knowing that Mrs. Sturgis had been to the safe in the meantime and discovered the loss, found opportunity to replace the now-empty box and, in the hurry of closing the door, jarred the mechanism of the lock.”

Mrs. Sturgis nodded; looked really quite encouraged. “That could have been done while I went up stairs to dress after sending to the Metropolitan for my niece. But I do hope you’re not going to make the mistake of accusing my servants. They’ve been with me for years.”

“I am not going to accuse any one, although servants have a way of making less honest friends who use them. I simply say that no professional turned this trick. The case is one for Central Office men. Even if it were in my line, I could not, under the circumstances, take the responsibility of it myself.”

“Under what circumstances, Mr. Pope—that is, Pape? You don’t intend to leave us—to desert us just when——”

Pape silenced Aunt Helene’s protestations with a creditable gesture. “The lack of confidence in me—even suspicion of me—shown by Miss Lauderdale makes it impossible for me to proceed. I have gone as far as I can in a case where I’m not to be given a hint of the nature of the stolen article which I am asked to replace. Since, however, I’ve been called in, I must discharge my obligation as an officer of the law. Where is—oh, I see it. May I use your phone, Mrs. Sturgis?”

“Certainly. But w-what are you about to do?”

“To call up Headquarters and have a brace of bulls—beg pardon—a span of detectives sent up at once. We shall hope that they look more worthy of Miss Lauderdale’s confidence.”

With this dignified declaration Pape strode across the room to a telephone cabinet in the corner; sat down and lifted the receiver. But he never heard the response.

One ringless hand brushed past his lips and cupped the mouthpiece, another pressed down the hook. Jane’s face, again disagreeable, strained, strange, bent over him. At just that moment he recalled that the line was said to be out of commission, a fact which they two appeared to have forgotten. Deeming the point of distance from Aunt Helene an advantage, he decided not to remind Jane, lest he silence what she was about to say.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she quavered. “I don’t want a detective—any detectives.”

“Oh, yes, you do.” Pape spoke in a tone authoritative from his sincere wish to get her the best possible advice in the least possible time. “Of course I’ll see it through, too, if you want me to and ask me to. But I must have help on the case. Just let me get a good man detailed, then don’t worry. We’ll get a rope on your petty thief sooner than——”

“No. I won’t have any one from Central Office. I can’t have the matter made public. When I thought the box stolen among other things I was willing. But I’ve changed my mind now I know that only the—that it— Oh, you don’t understand and I can’t explain! But it isn’t a petty theft, Mr. Pape.”

She leaned lower over him. Her voice dropped into a whispered rasp.

“You’d forgive me for not knowing whom to trust if you could realize that what was in that box means everything to me and that I’d never get it back if its real value became known. Can’t you imagine something whose loss means the completest kind of ruin to me and to one who——”

She pressed her teeth into her lower lip, whether to stop its quivering or its admission he did not care. He felt his sensibilities scorched by the blue blaze of fears which had burnt the doubt of him from her eyes. His original ideas of how to learn this lady he had self-selected seemed somehow thrown into the discard. They were much too slow, much too steady, much too cool as compared with hot, dizzy, instantaneous realization like this. One didn’t learn the woman. One just knew her. And knowing her as the woman, one served her.

Without superfluous words Pape’s lips swore their oath of allegiance—fervently kissed her hand. The click of the receiver being returned to its useless hook punctuated the small ceremony—that and the distant tintillation of an electric bell.

“Thank goodness, they’re back at last, the folks for supper!” exclaimed Aunt Helene and started for the stair-head.

Jane started after her. “One minute, Auntie. I want to ask—to beg a favor of you.”

Pape followed them to their stand in the hall, glancing hastily about for his hat and overcoat. He decided that he must escape. The returning quartette—Irene especially—could not be expected to play his game as had the strangely hostile, compliant and altogether enigmatic Jane. Stripped of his professional mask, he would lose the advantage he had gained with Aunt Helene, even did her niece deign to let him hold it for long. Perhaps he’d better forget his hat and coat. Yet how to get out without passing the party——

“If you’ll point the way to the back-stairs, madam—” he began. “It would be better if your friends did not see me. As the sleuth on the case I don’t want to be recognized.”

Jane interrupted, her one hand grasping his arm, her other Mrs. Sturgis’. Rapidly Jasper could be heard pad-padding through the lower hall to the street door.

“There’s no need for you to be named as a—a sleuth, Mr. Pape. Aunt Helene, what I wanted to ask—to implore is that you don’t mention the theft at all. As the only loser, I insist on working it out my own way. Won’t you promise, please?”

“But, my dear, there must be some explanation to Harford—my hurrying you home and all——”

“You won’t stop at a white fib for me, Aunt Helene? I’ll tell a million for you about anything—whenever you say. Listen. You had an attack of—what was it? Headache from your eyes.”

“Nothing of the sort. Indigestion. Why do you insist that my eyes——”

“Indigestion, then. Anything you like. You didn’t wish to spoil Irene’s evening, but couldn’t be alone. You feel better now, but—quick, come back into the library. Stretch out on the couch. Mr. Pape, help me—help her!”

There was no time to enquire into the advisability of Jane’s plea. As the street door thudded shut and light voices waved upward, her tug on the matron’s plump elbow was released in an imperative gesture to Pape.

He, nothing loath, snatched up the surprised lady and deposited her upon the pillow-piled couch before the library grate. Jane, with rapid movements, completely enveloped her with the rare old Kiskillum rug which had draped its foot, sternly tucking in the dimpled, pearl-adorned hands which would strive upward to smooth a really unruffled coiffure.

“How does making a fright of me help?” Aunt Helene complained.

Pape did not answer. He was looking about for the stray bottle of smelling-salts which, for sake of realism, he should be pressing to her nostrils. Before he could locate any such first-aid, however, the daughter of the house had achieved the second floor and dawdled delightedly into the room.

Straight for the Westerner she came head-on, soft exclamations floating from her like the sea-foam tulle from about her throat.

“Do you know, I knew you’d stick around until I came! Harfy is fee-urious—his mustache does look so bristly when he gets in a rage. But I believe in trusting each other, don’t you? Do you or don’t you, Why-Not Pape?”

Through his mumbled response Pape realized wretchedly that Mrs. Sturgis had been raised to a sitting posture by strength of her astonishment. He heard her demand:

“Irene, you know —— Jane, where in the world could she——”

Also he heard Jane’s hurried, low-voiced explanation.

“I was trying to tell you a while ago. Don’t you remember that I said how strange it all was? You see, he’s an acquaintance of mine from the Yellowstone. He was at the opera to-night. That’s why he is wearing evening clothes. But here come the Allens. Now, please——”

Mrs. Sturgis was obliged to take it at a gulp. She sat like some ruffled chicken doctored for the pip in her straw-heap of rug, smoothing her plumage, winking from smart of the idea and greeting her friends. Evidently she was none too taken with the impromptu rÔle thrust upon her—would have preferred the thriller of lady-assailed-in-her-castle—but she played it with all due languor, not forgetting a line, even on Irene’s demand that she invite Mr. Pape, who to her still must look somewhat like a mere operative from the Arsenal Precinct, to join the supper party.

Pape’s first weak thought was to refuse. The patent pincers at the moment gave him a twinge, as they had several times during recent excitements. Really, he owed it to his feet to go home. But that wouldn’t sound either a legitimate or romantic excuse to a lady exacting as she was young and fair. The fear that if he went now he might never get back decided him to accept.

Despite his inspirational superiority to all slow-but-sure methods, he found himself unable to advance one step that night toward the girl to whom he had made a vow of service. Mills Harford was a substantial barrier, although the “bristles” of his mustache relaxed to show boyishly charming smiles. By everybody, Jasper included, “Harfy” was accorded absolute right to seat Miss Lauderdale at table, to serve her, to engage her attention.

Then there was the difficulty of Irene.

“They teased me like everything for letting Cousin Jane snatch you out of the box to-night,” she confided to Pape. “You see she took me by surprise. I won’t let her grab like that again. Don’t you ever worry. Nothing is impossible to Rene, either.”

He did worry, though. In her he caught his first glimpse of the perquisites of “our young ladies to-day,” and he couldn’t help worrying. Why should he? And yet, looking into ardent Irene’s eyes, why not?

When Pape descended the brownstone steps to the sidewalk of Fifth Avenue, it was not late from the standpoint of the company to whom he had said good-by. But he smiled to think how Hellroaring Valley had been wrapped in slumber hours and hours before.

He crossed the asphalt to the park side and made his way toward Fifty-ninth Street. He did not want a cab. A walk to the Astor was just what he needed, he felt. It would help him to straighten out some of the tangles which the experiences of the night had left in his brain.

He looked off to his right upon the expanse of bare trees with their background of tall, still-lighted buildings. To him came the memory, as if from some far-away day, of the alone-ness in the midst of city throngs which had kept him loping his piebald over park bridle paths.

“Strange,” she had called this night’s experience. Yet she could not appreciate how strange was the fact that he was not lonely now. He should never be lonely again. Had he not met her? And did he not recognize her—Jane?

Probably she did not yet recognize him. She had snuffed his offer of service in the finding of that unnamed treasure which she had lost, just as she had snuffed his personal interest in her by her rather rude dismissal of him before the Metropolitan.

But what she did or said or thought was only her side of it—not necessarily his. He stood committed both by word and wish to accept the situation as she presented it, to trust her wholly in return for her refusal to trust him, to help her whether she wished his help or no.

And this because he, Peter, had met her, Jane!