DOUGLAS brought the powerful roadster to a standstill under the porte-cochÈre of the Carew mansion, and disentangling himself from among the levers and wheel, ran up the few steps. Before he could ring the bell the door was opened by Colonel Thornton.

“Come in,” he exclaimed heartily. “I saw you from the drawing-room window, and, as Joshua has gone to ask Mrs. Winthrop if she can see me, I thought I would let you in and not keep you standing outside.”

“Thanks, Colonel.” Douglas followed the older man into the drawing-room. “Have you seen Miss Eleanor?”

“No. Here, don’t sit on that gilt-edged insecurity,” as Douglas pulled forward a parlor chair. “This sofa is big enough to hold us both. Tell me, are there any new developments in the Carew case?”

“Only that Brett is convinced Captain Lane is guilty, and, from what he said this morning, I should not be at all surprised to hear of the latter’s arrest.”

“Good Lord! you don’t say so. Poor, poor Cynthia. I greatly fear another shock will prove most dangerous in her present nervous condition.”

“Has Mrs. Winthrop consented to Miss Carew’s spending to-morrow at your house?”

“I don’t know yet——” Colonel Thornton stopped abruptly as the portiÈres parted and a woman stepped into the room. Thinking it was Mrs. Winthrop, he started to rise, but it proved to be Annette, and he sank back in his seat.

“Bon jour, Messieurs,” Annette readjusted the portiÈres with care, then walked with catlike quickness over to where the men were sitting. “Mistaire Hunter, you are investigating ze death of Senator Carew, n’est-ce pas, and you, Monsieur,” turning to Colonel Thornton, “are Madame Winthrop’s man of affairs?”

“Well, what then?” asked Douglas quickly.

“Only that I may be of help.”

“Indeed?”

“Oui, Messieurs,” calmly. “I know—much.”

“Good,” Thornton’s tone betrayed his satisfaction. “Go ahead and tell us.”

“Ah, non, non, Monsieur,” Annette shook her head violently. “First, I must have some monie.”

“What, a bribe?” Douglas spoke with rising indignation.

“Non, Monsieur; a reward.”

“You must first tell us what you know,” explained Thornton patiently. “Then, if your information leads to the arrest and conviction of the murderer, you will be paid the one thousand dollars offered by Mrs. Winthrop.”

“One thousand dollars, did you say, Monsieur? Non, I will not sell my news for that.”

“It is the amount offered by Mrs. Winthrop.”

“But Madame Winthrop is willing to give five thousand.” Annette glanced eagerly at the two men. “My news is worth that.”

Thornton shook his head. “Mrs. Winthrop has reconsidered, and will not give more than one thousand,” he declared with finality.

An obstinate frown marred Annette’s pretty face. “I will not take less than five thousand,” she announced with emphasis.

“You go too fast,” broke in Douglas quietly. “First, the reward will not be paid until after the murderer is convicted; secondly, your information may be of no value whatever.”

“Zo?” Annette’s smile was not pleasant. “Zen I keep my news to myself,” and she started for the door.

“Wait,” commanded Thornton. “Come back here.” Then, as she obeyed, he added in a more kindly tone: “If your information is really valuable, Annette, I am willing to advance you some money. But first you must tell us what you know and suspect.”

“How much?”

“Say fifty dollars,” drawing out his leather wallet and extracting several yellow backs which he held temptingly in his hand.

“Not enough, Monsieur.”

Thornton lost all patience. “I shan’t offer you another damn cent,” and he thrust the money back into the wallet.

Annette’s eyes flashed. “Very well, Monsieur le Colonel; I go. But when I come back you will have to pay me more—but yes—more than that beggarly five thousand!” and with a stamp of her foot, she turned and hastened out of the room.

“A nice she-devil!” remarked Thornton, gazing blankly at Douglas.

“I think——” Douglas stopped speaking as the portiÈres were again thrust aside and Eleanor walked in.

“Uncle Dana, Mrs. Winthrop is waiting to see you in the library. Oh, Mr. Hunter, good morning”—her slender hand was almost lost in his firm clasp—“I did not know you were here.”

“I called hoping that you might care to take a motor ride,” said Douglas quickly.

“Why, yes, with pleasure.” She sank down on the sofa and motioned Douglas to draw up a chair.

“Eleanor,” broke in Thornton, returning from the hall door, “did you tell that precious maid of yours that Mrs. Winthrop would give five thousand dollars reward for information leading to the conviction of the murderer of Senator Carew?”

“Annette!” in profound astonishment. “No, certainly not; I’ve never spoken to her on the subject. Where did you get such an idea?” Her voice rose to a higher key.

“She has just been here and insists that we pay her five thousand for some information which she declares will solve the puzzle of poor Carew’s death.”

Eleanor smiled incredulously. “Nonsense, I don’t believe she knows a thing about it.” Her bright color had faded and she gazed anywhere but at the two men.

“It may be,” suggested Douglas thoughtfully, “that while in this house she has found a certain paper for which Brett is searching.”

“That’s possible,” agreed Thornton. “It was announced in yesterday’s papers that a reward of one thousand dollars had been offered. But what gets me is how Annette knew Mrs. Winthrop might raise the amount to five thousand—the very sum, in fact, which she first thought of offering.”

“I’m sure I don’t know.” Eleanor frowned in perplexity.

“Is she a good servant?” inquired Douglas.

“I have always found her honest and reliable. She brought me excellent recommendations when she came to me in Paris, where I engaged her,” replied Eleanor.

“It may be that the mystery has gone to her head,” suggested Thornton, “and she is inspired to play detective.”

“Personally, I think she is taking advantage of the present situation to extort money,” objected Douglas.

“I believe you’ve hit it,” exclaimed the older man. “Tell Brett, Douglas, he may be able to induce Annette to tell what she knows. I must go now and see Mrs. Winthrop.”

“Let me know what she decides about Sunday,” called Eleanor, as Thornton, for the second time, hurried out of the room.

“You are looking tired, Miss Thornton,” said Douglas, glancing at her attentively.

“I didn’t get much sleep last night. Cynthia was miserable, and I sat up with her until five o’clock this morning.”

“No wonder you are worn out.” Douglas looked his concern. “I really think a motor ride would do you lots of good. Do keep your promise and come for a spin.”

Eleanor glanced doubtfully down at her pretty house gown. “If you don’t mind waiting while I change——”

“Why, certainly.”

“I won’t be long”—and Eleanor disappeared.

Douglas did not resume his seat; but instead paced the room with long, nervous strides. Eleanor was not the only one who had passed a sleepless night. He had sat up and wracked his brain trying to find the key to the solution of the mystery surrounding the Senator’s death. Annette must be made to tell what she knew. Perhaps Brett’s authority as an officer of the law might intimidate her. It was worth trying. Walking down to the folding doors, which led from the drawing-room to the dining room, he opened them and found Joshua busy polishing the mahogany table.

“Is there a branch telephone in the house?” he asked, “besides the one in the library? Mrs. Winthrop is in there and I don’t want to disturb her.”

“Suttenly, suh; dar’s one right in de pantry, suh,” and Joshua, dropping his work, piloted him to the instrument.

It took him but a few minutes to get police headquarters on the wire, only to find that Brett was out. Whistling softly, he hung up the receiver and went back into the drawing-room. Eleanor had not appeared, and he sat down at the inlaid desk, which was supplied with pen, ink, and paper, and wrote a short note while he waited for her return.

“Where’s Eleanor?” asked Thornton, coming into the room and picking up his hat, which he had left on one of the chairs.

“Here,” and his niece, who had entered just behind him, joined them. “I am sorry to have kept you so long, Mr. Hunter, but I found Annette had gone out on an errand for Cynthia, and I had to do without her assistance.”

“You were very successful.” Thornton made her a courtly bow, as he gazed at his beautiful niece. Her fashionable light-gray suit and smart hat were extremely becoming. Eleanor colored faintly as she read the admiration in Douglas’ eyes.

“What luck did you have with Mrs. Winthrop, Uncle Dana?” she asked.

“The best. She said she thought it an excellent plan. So I shall expect you both this afternoon, Eleanor, and you had better stop and pick up your Cousin Kate Truxton on your way out.”

“Very well, I will; but, Uncle Dana, we won’t get over to you until just before dinner.”

“That will do.” The two men followed Eleanor out into the square hall. “Don’t forget, Douglas, that I expect you, too.”

“That’s very good of you, sir,” Douglas hesitated, “but don’t you think I might be in the way in a family party?”

“A family party is exactly what I wish to avoid,” exclaimed Thornton. “Cynthia needs to be taken out of herself. And, therefore, I want you to spend Sunday with us, as if it were a regular house party.”

“Then I’ll come with pleasure.” Douglas helped Eleanor into the low seat of the motor, and clambered in behind the wheel. “I’m awfully sorry there isn’t a third seat, Colonel, and that I can’t take you where you wish to go.”

“I left my car down by the curb; thanks all the same, Douglas,” and Thornton waved a friendly good-bye to Eleanor as the motor started slowly down the driveway.

“If you have no objection, I will stop at the Municipal Building for a moment, Miss Thornton,” said Douglas, turning the car into Thirteenth Street.

“I don’t mind in the least. What a magnificent motor!”

“Isn’t it?” with enthusiasm, as he steered safely between another machine and a delivery wagon. “My chief in Tokio has one just like this, and I learned to run his car.”

As they crossed K Street he put on the emergency brakes hard and the motor stopped just in time, as a touring car shot in front of them and disappeared down the street. When the car was again under way, Douglas turned to the silent girl by his side.

“That was the Japanese Ambassador, was it not?”

“Yes.”

“He seemed to be in the devil of a hurry; it was a near smash.”

“A little too near for comfort.” Eleanor drew a long breath. “I noticed some luggage in his car—oh, take care!” as the motor skidded toward the gutter.

“I beg your pardon, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” said Douglas, as he applied the brake going down Thirteenth Street hill to Pennsylvania Avenue. “That chap got on my nerves; I don’t care if he is an ambassador, and exempt from arrest, he has no business to be breaking our rules and regulations.”

“Come, now, didn’t you break some rules when in Japan?” asked Eleanor, her lovely face dimpling into a smile. Douglas started slightly, but she apparently did not notice his discomfiture. “Judging from the luggage in the car, and the rate at which they were going, I imagine the Ambassador was trying to catch a train.”

“It does look that way.” Douglas brought the car to a standstill before one of the entrances to the Municipal Building. “I won’t be a minute, Miss Thornton.”

“Don’t hurry on my account,” called Eleanor after him.

Brett was still out, so Douglas gave the note he had written when waiting for Eleanor at the Carews’ to the attendant, first adding a postscript and enclosing it in a large envelope, with instructions that it was to be delivered to the detective immediately on his return. Then, with a lighter heart, he hastened out of the building and rejoined Eleanor.

“Where do you wish to go, Miss Thornton?” he asked, as they started slowly up Pennsylvania Avenue.

Eleanor considered a moment before answering. “Suppose we go out the Conduit Road,” she said finally.

Douglas swung the machine across the broad avenue and through the short street behind the Treasury Department into the drive which circles around the White House grounds. “It’s some years since I’ve been out in this direction, Miss Thornton, so, if I go astray, please put me back on the straight and narrow path.”

“Straight out Pennsylvania Avenue and through Georgetown,” directed Eleanor, as the big car swung back again into that avenue. “The narrow path only comes after you reach the Conduit.”

“Then it should be spelled ‘Conduct.’ You have been going out a great deal this winter, have you not?”

“Yes; Washington has been extremely gay, and I have enjoyed it so much.”

Douglas smiled down at her. “And I bet a thousand to one that Washington enjoyed you. I asked about your going out, because I am wondering if, among all the men you’ve met this winter, you have come across a middle-aged man with black hair and beard and very blue eyes?”

Not receiving a reply, Douglas turned and scanned his companion. She sat silent, gazing straight before her. The car sped on for several squares before she roused herself.

“That is a very vague description, Mr. Hunter. Do you remember the man’s name?”

Douglas shook his head. “I have never heard it. I only asked because I was under the impression that I saw him with you at the Navy Department on Thursday morning.”

“With me—at the Navy Department,” gasped Eleanor, sitting bolt upright. She was white to the lips.

“Yes, I thought I saw him talking to you in an elevator. I just caught a glimpse of you as the cage descended past the floor on which I was.”

“You are entirely mistaken, Mr. Hunter.” Eleanor’s eyes did not waver before his questioning look. “I was alone, though I do recollect there was another passenger in the elevator who got out on the first floor, while I continued on down to the basement.”

“Then I was mistaken.” Douglas slowed the car down to the limit prescribed by law as he crossed the M Street bridge over Rock Creek, then increased the speed as they progressed through Georgetown.

“You have aroused my curiosity.” Eleanor settled herself more comfortably in the low seat. “Why do you take an interest in a man with blue eyes and black hair?”

“Because I thought he was with you.”

“Upon my word!” Eleanor’s laugh held a shade of annoyance. “That’s a very silly reason.”

“I don’t think it is,” replied Douglas, steadily. “I am interested in everything that concerns you.”

Eleanor surveyed him keenly. She studied the fine profile, the broad shoulders, and the powerful hands holding the steering wheel. The quiet figure seemed instinct with the vital personality of the man, a living part of the pulsing machine which he was guiding through the narrow, congested street with such skill. They crossed Thirty-seventh Street, and in a few minutes the car leaped ahead up the hill leading to the Conduit.

Eleanor said nothing, and Douglas was equally silent. They had the narrow road to themselves, and he increased the speed. The wheels raced like velvet on the finished macadam. On they sped. Soon Eleanor caught a glimpse of the Potomac below them, and the bright sunlight sparkled on the water and on the green foliage of the wooded banks of the Maryland and Virginia shores. They passed the Three Sisters, then the reservoirs, and Douglas saw a straight stretch of road ahead and no vehicle in sight. The next moment the powerful machine, gathering speed, shot down the road, which seemed a narrowing white strip as the revolving wheels devoured the distance.

Douglas turned his eyes a moment from the flying landscape to Eleanor, who sat, tense, fearless, her pulses leaping as the rushing wind stung her cheeks. She caught his look. “Faster, faster,” she called. And obediently Douglas threw wide open the throttle. On, on they flew. A wild exhilaration engulfed Eleanor; her spirit seemed to soar, detached from things earthly. She cast a glance of resentment at Douglas who, seeing the road curved in the distance, slackened speed. By the time the big car reached the turning, he had brought it to a standstill near the side of the road.

Eleanor drew a long breath. “Oh, why did you stop?” Her eyes shone like stars. “It was glorious.”

“I stopped”—Douglas turned squarely in his seat, and faced Eleanor—“because I want to ask you to confide in me.”

“To do what?” Eleanor’s deep blue eyes opened to their widest extent.

“To tell me”—Douglas hesitated over his choice of words—“your mission in life.”

Eye to eye they gazed at each other. Eleanor was the first to speak.

“I am at a loss to understand your singular request,” she said, freezingly.

“Miss Thornton, do me the justice to think that I am not asking from idle curiosity—it is because I have your welfare so deeply at heart.”

“If I did not know you to be a sane person, I would think you had suddenly lost your mind. As you take the matter so seriously, I must repeat that I am concerned in nothing.”

Douglas held her gaze, as if in the limpid depths of her blue eyes he would fathom the secret of her soul. Eleanor’s breath came and went, she colored painfully, but her eyes never dropped before his. Nearer he bent and nearer. The virile strength of the man drew her, and his arms closed about her slender waist.

“Eleanor, I love you.” The very repression of his tone added to its intensity.

Fearlessly she raised her lips to his—in surrender.

Some time later Douglas backed the car a yard or two, then turned it toward Washington, but their return trip was made with due attention to the speed law.

“Will you please tell me—Douglas”—she hesitated adorably over his name—“Indeed, you must not kiss me again”—drawing back as far as the seat would permit. “Why did you avoid me in Paris?”

A shadow passed over Douglas’ radiant face, and was gone before Eleanor observed it.

“I suppose you would call it false pride,” he said. “I had no money—you had much—and so I worshiped from a distance. Now that my inheritance has made me well-to-do, I felt that I had a right to ask you to marry me. In Paris I thought you would take me for a fortune hunter.”

“Which only goes to show what fools men are,” exclaimed Eleanor roguishly. “Bend down nearer me”—she placed her mouth close to his ear. “You could have had me for the asking then, dear heart”—his left arm stole about her—“for I know a man when I see one.”

“Not a word, remember.”

“Madame has my promise.” Annette tucked the small roll of bills inside the bosom of her gown, as Mrs. Winthrop replaced her pocketbook in her leather handbag.

“Where is Miss Eleanor?”

“Joshua tells me that in my absence Mademoiselle left ze house to motor wiz Monsieur Hunter.”

“If she asks for me on her return tell her that I will be back in time to lunch with her and Miss Cynthia.”

“Oui, madame.” Annette assisted Mrs. Winthrop into her coat, then left the bedroom. From a safe distance down the hall she watched Mrs. Winthrop descend the staircase, and waited until she heard Joshua close the front door after her and retreat into his own domain. She then slipped noiselessly down the hall and into Mrs. Winthrop’s bedroom. Half an hour passed before she again appeared, wearing a satisfied smile. The hall was empty. “I have seen what I have seen,” she muttered under her breath exultingly, as she proceeded downstairs. “And I think I will haf more monie by to-morrow. Mon Dieu!”

The peal of the front bell had startled her from her reverie. As Joshua did not appear to answer it, she crossed the square hall and opened the door. A tall man, wearing nondescript clothes, confronted her in the vestibule.

“Miss Thornton, is she in?” he questioned. The contrast of his deep blue eyes against his tanned skin and black beard held her attention. Receiving no reply, he repeated his question with emphasis.

“Non, Mademoiselle is out in ze motor,” she answered, none too civilly.

Without a word he turned on his heel and hastened down the steps. Annette stared up the street after him; then closed the door softly, her pretty forehead puckered in a frown. Where had she seen those eyes before?