It could be easily seen that Peggy was under some excitement. She almost sparkled as she ran into the little clearing, alone first, for Jack was doing her bidding with the horses. She was wearing a new riding outfit and cried, “Look at me, folks. Don’t I look grown up?”

Not a little was she taken back upon seeing the stranger, but she recovered herself quickly, especially as Dalton rose and took a step toward her as if to protect her from criticism. Gaily Peggy extended her hand high, its fingers drooping. “Congratulate me, Dal,” she said, “on some new clothes. We’re having company,—but excuse me, Beth, for rushing in this way.” Then she paused and waited to be introduced.

“Miss Ives,” said Beth, formally and sweetly, as if Peggy were as grown as she claimed to be, “you will be glad to meet Mr. Tudor of New York, a writer who is taking a vacation in our fine country.”

Peggy stepped forward a little to offer her hand prettily and modestly, as she had been taught to do. “I am glad to see you, Mr. Tudor, and I am sorry that I interrupted your visit, but this is the first time that the Eyrie has had company.

“The great excitement, girls,” she continued, looking at Leslie and Sarita, “is that we are having important guests and I can’t get over having new clothes and part of the responsibility.”

Evan Tudor had said the few pleasant words of greeting that were proper when he met Peggy, and stood by, interested. Jack Morgan now appeared, equally resplendent in riding togs that were new. He came forward as eagerly as Peggy had done, but as he was not saying anything, he was not embarrassed when he observed the stranger.

After Jack had been introduced, he began to explain why they had not been over. “Peggy and I have been trying to help my aunt with her plans. Uncle is bringing down, or up, from wherever they are a prince and princess, a grand duchess or two and I don’t know whom else for a sort of house party, I suppose. Aunt Kit had a telegram some time ago, but we just heard about it lately. Then Uncle wired that he did not know just when they could get together, but he would bring them in the yacht and everything was to be ready to entertain them in their accustomed style.”

“That might depend upon their recent fortunes, don’t you think, Mr. Morgan?” Mr. Tudor asked. He was standing with his hands behind him, a little smile on his rather thin face. “European royalty has had rather a hard time of it in some countries since the war.”

“You are right. I imagine that the Russian grand duchess doesn’t find it any too pleasant at home.”

“In fact she could not stay there at all,” said Dalton, “if I know anything about it.”

“But probably Mrs. Ives’ guests are not all exiles,” Mr. Tudor added, open for information.

“Mother and Dad met some of them abroad, I think,” Peggy volunteered. “And I think that Count Herschfeld knows some of them, and the Kravetz, too.”

Beth looked rather disapproving of Peggy’s reference to her governess and Mr. Tudor wanted to ask who the Count and “the Kravetz” were; but he thought it not in good taste to ask any more questions. Peggy, however, explained. “The Count, Mr. Tudor, is a sort of secretary for my step-father. Do come over to see my things, girls. I shall have time to play around for several days. Dad wrote that they would be here at the latest somewhere around the twenty-eighth, he thought,—oh, girls, that—” Peggy had just thought.

But Leslie spoke at once. “Indeed, we shall be over right away, Peggy. Would to-morrow morning be too soon? It is not very long till the twenty-eighth, is it, Dal?” Leslie looked soberly at her brother.

“Not very, Les.”

“I wish that you would come, too, Dal. You have never been over and Mother was saying that she wanted to see the rest of the Eyrie family.”

“I want to see your mother, too, Peggy, but I’m too busy with the building, you see. Bring your mother over here.”

“I will, when the company goes. But then, she always has somebody.” Peggy looked rather cross at the thought.

“We’ll ask your mother out for a little trip in the Sea Crest,” Beth suggested. “Perhaps she will feel that she can run off for a little while.”

“I believe that she might,” Peggy replied.

Evan Tudor had noted Peggy’s startled pause, and Leslie’s question concerning the date. He had a particular interest in matters here which he was not disclosing yet, but he welcomed anything which threw any light upon it. When Peggy and Jack went away after their short visit, he walked beside Peggy’s horse for some distance till it was necessary to strike off from the trail or bridle path to his own little camp. Several notes went into his small pocket notebook that night before he went to sleep. He was inclined to go abroad to do a little investigating, but he decided that first he should get some familiarity with the woods and coast by daylight. It might be just as well, too, to have one good night’s rest. He expected to have few before the twenty-eighth.

Early the next morning Evan Tudor was at the roadside, waiting, and who should come to meet him there but Tom Carey, who then rode to the town at the railroad and sent a telegram, written at length, and signed E. T. It was very innocent and related to a certain article which would be ready for the press to meet the editor’s date.

“Are you deeply engaged in the affairs of a certain man here named Bill?” Evan Tudor facetiously asked Tom, as he handed him the written message.

“No, sir. I catch fish for him,” said Tom. “I might be doing something else, perhaps, if he meant some things that he said to me, but what I do I do in the open.”

“Do you know what it is that Bill meant?”

“No; I thought that it was liquor, but I am not so sure now.” Tom dug his shoe into the turf by the side of the road with a troubled face.

“Would you consider finding out for me, if I should take you into my employ without interfering with your work for Bill? Indeed, that would be a part of it.”

Tom looked up quickly. “You are after Bill!”

“I am not sure that I am at all. Something is wrong up here. Can I count on you not to betray me?”

“Yes, sir. Something is wrong up here. I’ve got to stay here with my old grandmom that has been here all her life, and I’d like to see somebody beside Bill running things.”

“I picked you yesterday, from something you said,” Mr. Tudor continued. “I am taking quite a risk to tell anyone that I have a quest here, but I shall need someone, and I happened to find that I need you right away. I made this appointment with you not knowing that I should have to send this telegram, but I hoped to secure your services. I did expect to enjoy a little fishing, but I suppose that I shall have to keep up my writing a while, to give you the excuse of bringing fish to me every day. Tell Bill that the writing chap has ordered fish, shrimp, lobster, anything that you get particularly fine and every day. I mean to write, too,—but not all the time.”

This mystery appealed to Tom, whose eyes sparkled. “You can count on me, sir. Prob’ly Bill will charge you fancy prices, though.”

“That is all right, and I’ll pay you, too. It’s going faster than I thought. Sure you can carry it off so that Bill will not suspect? It’s all right for you to show an interest in me, of course.”

“I’ve kept more than one thing from Bill already, sir.”

“Don’t forget, then.”

Tom carried the telegram into the station with an air of great indifference, as he happened to see a man who worked for Bill, in fact one of Bill’s chief henchmen, on the platform.

“H’lo, Tom. Wot’e ye doin’ here?”

“What ye doin’ yourself?” Tom was grinning. Perhaps it would do no harm to let the man see the telegram. It would be better at any rate than to make any mystery over it. He went right ahead about the business of sending off the message, making out the blank and stuffing the original paper, scribbled by Evan Tudor, into his pocket.

But the man was waiting curiously at the door. Tom hoped that it was mere curiosity that moved him. “Wot’s the matter? Any of yer folks sick?”

“No. I’m sending a message for somebody else, the new man that came in yesterday. I s’pose everybody in town knows—”

“Say, wot was it about? Bill was kinda suspicious las’ night.”

“Bill’s always suspicious,” laughed Tom. “Read it yourself.” Tom pulled the mussed paper from his pocket. “The man’s on some paper. Abner said that he wouldn’t let anybody carry his typewriter but himself yesterday.”

“That so?” The man scanned the paper. “Lemme show this to Bill?”

“I don’t know whether I ought to give it to you or not. There’s nothing private in it, I suppose, but he paid me to bring it and I was to ask whether there was any message for him. Suppose he asks me about this?”

“Was they any message fer him?”

“No.”

“Well, I don’t want it anyhow. I kin remember if Bill asts me.”

But Bill was not quite satisfied with the report of his henchman. He decided to see himself what the “young chap was up to,” as he had done in the case of the Secrests. Evan Tudor was quite pleased with himself that he was running his typewriter at top speed, under the trees in his chosen retreat, when a rough man appeared before him with a “Hello.”

“Good morning sir.” Evan looked up from his improvised seat on a boulder. “Too fine a morning to waste this way, isn’t it?’”

“Might just as well stay in the city if you have to write.”

“Just what I was thinking. But I don’t know. This is a pretty good place to think; and I don’t intend to keep it up after I get this off by mail, and maybe one or two other things out of my system.”

“Hunting a quiet place, then?”

“Yes; but it is partly for a vacation, too. Aren’t you the man who runs a lot of the fishing around here?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I think I saw you in the village, and someone told me. I got hold of a boy that works for you and I told him to bring me something every day, fish, shrimp, your choicest of anything. Can that be done?”

“Yes, but you will have to pay for it.”

“All right. Want a little pay in advance?”

“No objection.”

“Don’t cheat me, then.” Evan Tudor’s tone was not one which would give offense, rather one inclined to banter. He felt in his vest pocket and took out a folded bill, for five dollars. “That all right?”

“We’ll do the best we kin fer ye.” Bill pocketed the money. This chap was easy. “Say are ye a friend of them Secrests? You was eatin’ there last night.”

“Certainly I am a friend of theirs, though I never saw any of them before last night. And I don’t like that, Mr.—” Not recalling Bill’s name Mr. Tudor paused for a moment. “That looks a little as if I were being spied on. Are there any parties around here from whom I may need to protect myself?”

Evan’s eyes flashed. Bill’s eyes fell. He was used to taking the initiative in threats. This was something new for him.

“If ye mind yer own business, I reckon ye needn’t be afraid of nobody.”

“That is good. I’ll not be, but it is just as well in a new country to be ready, I suppose. How are the village people about talking to strangers? I want a little material in the line of characters and I may wander among those interesting shacks a little. Will they throw me out?” Mr. Tudor’s face wore a whimsical smile.

“They might. I wouldn’t advise ye to git too smart around here.”

Bill sauntered off. He had come from the direction of Steeple Rocks, Mr. Tudor noted. He smiled to himself as he started the typewriter once more. He was paying Bill, Bill the chief sinner, aside from those who paid him for doing what he was doing.

Evan Tudor spent the rest of the day in spying out the land. He searched the woods, finding it a glorious grove of beautiful trees and interesting growths of bush and fern. He had the love of a scientist for the different phases of wild life and spent some time over curious flowers, taking a list of those he knew for future use in some setting of a story. Toward dark, he entered the Ives’ land and after dark he wandered around Steeple Rocks, feeling justified in the intrusion, for his quest was a trust.

But as it grew late he hurried back to his tent, for he rather expected that some watcher would know whether he spent the night in his tent or in “snooping.” He thought that so far he had escaped observation since evening fell. And after all, an early trip about would be only natural to a newcomer. Evan tried to put himself in the place of the evildoer, suspicious, fearful, and he wished at first to allay those suspicions.

As he approached his tent, he thought he heard a rustle in the bushes. He put a tree between himself and the noise, but hummed a little. A shot in the dark would be possible, but scarcely likely. Bill would be the first one to be suspected, and Bill, whether able to prove an alibi or not, did not want any investigating authorities.

So reasoning, young Tudor boldly walked to his tent, turned his flashlight inside of it and finding it empty, except for his undisturbed possessions, entered, lit a candle and prepared for the night. He lay awake for some time, a little uncertain whether or not he might be the intended victim of some attack. He was ready but nothing happened. No suspicious noise of any human source disturbed him. Finally he had to fight to keep awake, but when the stirring of the birds denoted the dawn, he fell into a deep slumber and slept far into the morning.