Charlie Webster met Alix at the ferry. The body of the drowned girl had been removed to Hart's Undertaking Parlours and Expert Carpenter's Shop in obedience to the County Coroner's instructions by telephone.

The fat man was so overcome by excitement he could hardly speak. Sitting beside Alix in the automobile, he rattled on at a great rate about the extraordinary turn of affairs, and it was not until they were nearly home that he discovered she was sobbing quietly in her corner of the car.

"Gosh, what are you crying for, Alix?" he demanded. "It's the greatest piece of good fortune that ever—"

"I am thinking of poor Mrs. Vick," she murmured chokingly.

"Oh! Yes, that's right. It's terrible for that poor woman. Terrible. As I was saying, the last anybody saw of him was when he started for the Tavern. Gilfillan follered him part ways and then went back to the ferry, never dreaming he—But didn't I tell you that before? I'm so upset I don't seem to remember what I—Oh, yes, now I know where I was. The detectives insisted on searching every room in the Tavern. Angie Miller got as sore as a boiled lobster when they knocked on her door and asked if he was in her room. You ought to have heard what she said to 'em from behind the door when she finally opened it and let 'em in,—and she nearly had a fit when she saw old Tintype was with 'em. She lit into him,—my gosh, how she lit into him! Accused him of suspecting her of having an erudite affair with Courtney,—erudite wasn't the word she used, but it don't matter, it's as good as any for an old maid. We searched everywhere, but no sign of him. You needn't be surprised to find one of the detectives hanging around your place, Alix. They think maybe he'll turn up there before long."

"He can't be very far away," said she suddenly aroused to anxiety. She had ceased crying and was drying her eyes with her handkerchief. The car was nearing the entrance to her grounds. "He wouldn't dare come to my house after—after what I said to him tonight. He could not expect me to help him in any—"

"Well, you see, it's barely possible he don't know they're after him, Alix. I guess maybe I'd better stay here for a while. You won't be so nervous with me in the house."

"I am not afraid, Charlie. Of course, I am terribly unstrung and unhappy over poor little Rosabel,—but I am not afraid of HIM. He will not come here. Tell me again just what he is accused of doing."

The car had drawn up under the porte-cochere. Webster repeated the story he had had from Gilfillan. She sat perfectly still during the lengthy recital.

"And to think—" she began, but checked the words in time. "Oh, what fools we have been, Charlie!"

"Anyhow," said Charlie, divining her thoughts, "there's a good deal to be said for that saying, 'All's well that ends well.' I've been thinking what a difference there is in men. Now, take for instance David Strong. Just stack him up alongside this slick, smooth-talking—"

"Oh, Charlie!" It was almost a wail.

He took her hand in one of his and gently patted it with the other.

"I guess you'd kind of like to see Davy for a change, wouldn't you, Alix?"

She caught her breath sharply, as if in pain.

"Now, there's a feller," went on Charlie after a moment, "that's all wool and a yard wide. He—"

"Good night, Charlie," she broke in abruptly. "Thank you for coming to meet me. You—you are the best, the dearest man in the world. I—"

"You needen't thank me for standin' up for Davy Strong. That's what you're really thankin' me for, you know," said he. "I've always loved that boy, Alix." She pressed his hand. "That's good!" he cried fervently. "I love him so much I wish he was sitting right here where I'm sitting now. I'll bet he'd be the happiest feller in all—Well, so long, Alix. You've had a hard day. I won't make it any worse for you by talking about David Strong. I know how much you hate him. Just the same, I wish he was sitting here in my place."

"So do I, Charlie," she confessed, with a deep sigh.

"So's you could hate him to your heart's content, eh?" he chaffed.

"Yes," she murmured,—"to my heart's content."

"Well, I've got to get busy," he exclaimed briskly. "Can't sit here talkin' nonsense to you when there's so much to do. Link Pollock and Doc and Tintype are waiting for me down at the Tavern. I promised to hurry back with the car. That reminds me, Alix. We're going to use your car to go hunting in. I guess you don't mind, do you?"

She spoke to the chauffeur as she got out. "Take Mr. Webster wherever he wants to go, Ed. I shall not need the car until eleven o'clock in the morning."

Mrs. Strong was waiting up for her. There was a big fire in the living-room, and a tray with hot coffee and toast on a table beside the comfortable chair that had been drawn up near the fender.

Alix dropped wearily into the chair and stretched her booted, pantalooned legs out in complete relaxation.

"You poor child," cried Mrs. Strong. "You're all done up. My, but you're white and tired-looking. It's been a terrible strain. Sit still now and I'll take your hat off for you. Better have your coat and boots off, too, dear. Hilda will have a hot bath ready for you whenever you're ready to—"

"I suppose you know they've found her, Auntie? In the river."

"Yes. Ed told me. Now, don't talk about it. Here's some hot coffee."

"Never mind my coat. I'm too tired. You know about Courtney Thane?"

"I only know they're hunting for him. There's a man out in the kitchen. Is—is it in connection with Rosabel's death?"

"No. Thank you, Auntie. That feels better. I haven't had it off since morning. Charlie told me about Thane, but I am not sure whether I can get it straight. He was so excited,—and I was so distressed."

Her voice was low and husky with fatigue and emotion; it was apparent that she controlled it with difficulty. In her dark eyes there was a brooding, haunted look. She repeated as best she could Charlie's rambling, disjointed story.

"And just to think," cried Mrs. Strong at the end, "you let that beast kiss you and—"

"Oh, don't! Don't!" cried the girl, covering her eyes with her hands. "I can't bear the thought of it. I wasn't myself. I don't know what came over—"

"There, there! Don't think about it any more. It's all right now. And you're not the only woman that's lost her head since God made Adam, my dear. It's pretty hard not to sometimes. You—"

"Oh, I couldn't,—I COULDN'T have done anything bad. I couldn't—"

"God bless you, of course you couldn't," cried the older woman, stroking the girl's hair. "Do you think this coffee will keep you awake?" She poured out a steaming cup and dropped two lumps of sugar into it.

"I sha'n't go to sleep anyway, Auntie, so—"

The ringing of the door bell startled them. Alix sprang to her feet in alarm.

"Don't go to the door!" she cried. "It's—it's Courtney Thane!"

"Nonsense! He'll not be coming here. Sit down. I'll inquire who it is before I open the door."

"Under no circumstances are you to let him in, Mrs. Strong," ordered Alix peremptorily.

"I should say not! It would look pretty, wouldn't it, if the papers came out and said the notorious bandit was captured in the home of Miss Alix Crown, the beautiful and wealthy heiress? They always—" The bell rang again. "Put the cream in yourself, Alix. I'll see who it is."

Alix followed her with anxious, apprehensive eyes as she passed into the hall. She heard the following dialogue:

"Who is it?"

"Does Miss Crown live here?" came in a clear, boyish voice from the outside.

"She does. Who are you and what do you want?"

"I'm a messenger boy. I got a letter for her."

"A letter? Who's it from?"

"Say, open up! I can't stand out here all night."

"Who is it from?" repeated Mrs. Strong firmly.

"How do I know? I ain't no mind-reader."

Mrs. Strong looked in at Alix. "I guess it's all right, isn't it?"

"Open the door," said Alix quietly.

A small, shivering messenger boy in uniform entered.

"Are you Miss Crown?"

"No, I'm not. Where's the letter?"

"I got to deliver it to her. If she ain't here I'm to wait. I got to get an answer."

Alix came forward. "I am Miss Crown. Come in, my boy, and warm yourself by the fire."

"Sign here," said the boy, indicating a line in his receipt book.

While Alix was signing her name, Mrs. Strong looked the boy over. "Dear me, you must be nearly frozen, child. No overcoat on a night like this. Did you come all the way out here from the city on a bicycle?"

"Give him some coffee, Mrs. Strong," said Alix, handing back the book and receiving the envelope in return.

"I got a taxi waiting for me out in front," said the boy. "Say, what's goin' on in this burg? We been held up three times, and just now a man stopped me out here in the yard and—"

"What's the matter, Alix?" cried Mrs. Strong.

The girl was staring at the address on the envelope. Doubt, wonder, incredulity filled her eyes.

"Why,—why, Auntie,—it's David's writing! David's!" she cried. "See! Isn't it? I would recognize it—"

"Bless my soul, so it is!" exclaimed David's mother.

"Oh,—what does it mean? Boy, where did you get this letter?" Her voice trembled with excitement, her eyes were gleaming.

"Never mind," put in Mrs. Strong, turning her head to hide a smile. "You run upstairs and read it, Alix, and I—"

"Auntie Strong, do you know anything about this?" demanded Alix suspiciously. The colour was flowing back into her cheeks. "Have you been keeping something—"

"—and I will entertain this young gentleman during your absence," went on the other serenely,—but there was a flush in her cheeks and her eyes were very bright and happy. "You go and read your letter and,—did you say there was to be an answer, boy?"

"Yes'm."

"And write your answer," concluded Mrs. Strong. "Come along, my lad, and have a nice hot cup of coffee and some toast. I hope you take sugar. There are two lumps in it already."

Alix fairly ran from the room. They heard her racing up the stairs.

"Will you have cream, my boy?" asked Mrs. Strong, steadying her voice with an effort. He had shuffled along behind her to the fireplace.

"Yes'm," and then as an afterthought: "if you please, ma'am." He looked up and saw that his hostess's eyes were swimming in tears. "I—I hope it ain't bad news," he stammered uncomfortably.

"Don't you know there are such things as tears of joy?" inquired the lady.

He looked very doubtful. "No ma'am," he solemnly confessed. The tears he knew about were not joyous.

"Wasn't it just like David to hire an automobile to send you out here to deliver the letter to her? I suppose it must have cost him a pretty penny. Most men would have put a two cent stamp on it. But my son is not like other men. He is always doing the most unexpected things,—and the very nicest things. Now, who else in the world would have thought of hiring an automobile to send a message by?"

"Is he your son, ma'am?"

"Yes. My son David. Did you see him?"

"Sure I did."

"How was he looking?"

"Fine," said the lad. "Gee, but he's tall."

"Six feet three, my boy," said David's mother. "That's very hot. Be careful not to scald your mouth. Shall I put in another lump,—or two?"

"Will it cool it off any?"

"I am sure it will."

Meanwhile, Alix was greedily devouring the contents of the letter. She stood beside the light over her dressing-table; her heart was pounding furiously, her eyes were radiantly bright.

DEAR ALIX:

I have just this instant arrived in town, and I am scribbling this in the hotel writing-room, with my overcoat still on my back. I shall not go to sleep tonight until I have had your reply. Somehow I will find a way to get this letter to you tonight, I don't know how at present, but where there's a will there's a way. If mother and Charlie Webster are mistaken, or if they have assumed something that is not true, I shall go away again without bothering you. But if you want me, I will come straight out to you. You are in trouble. I am not asking anything for myself, dear,—you know me well enough to understand that,—I am only asking you to let me do anything in the world I can for you. That is why I dropped everything to come. I am happy, you don't know how happy, to be even this close to you. I have always wanted to hang out my shingle in this dear old town. I do not like the East. I am a Westerner and I can't seem to make myself fit in with the East. I shall always be a Hoosier, I fear,—and hope. Just the few minutes I have been here in this familiar old hotel, and the ride through the quiet streets, and getting off the train at the insignificant little depot, and having the hackman,—they are taxi-drivers now,—yell out,—"Hello, Davy," and run up to shake hands with me,—well, I am so homesick I could cry. But you know why I cannot come here to live and practise. If I can't be very, very near to you, Alix darling, I must keep myself as far away as possible. It is the only way. But if I keep on at this rate, you will think I am writing a love letter to you, when, as a matter of fact, I am only asking you if you care to see me and tell me what I can do to help you now,—if you need the help of your

Always devoted

DAVID.

P.S.—If you would rather not see me, don't hesitate to say so. I will understand. And please do not blame mother and Charlie. They would both die for you, dear.

P.S.S.—You will be pleased to know, I am sure, that I have the five hundred I still owe you in my pocket, all in brand new bills, and I think you might give me the happiness of quarrelling face to face with you about the matter instead of under the protection of a two-cent stamp.

D.

She read the letter aloud. When she came to the end she kissed the sheet of paper rapturously and then pressed it to her breast. For a few moments she stood there with her eyes closed, a little smile on her lips, the blush of roses deepening in her cheeks.

Suddenly she roused herself. Hurrying to the desk across the room, she snatched a sheet of note paper from the rack, seated herself, and began to write.

DEAREST DAVID:

THIS is a love letter. I love you. I have always loved you, ever since I can remember, only I did not realize how much until you wouldn't let me have my own way about the money. Then I tried to hate you. The best thing I can say for the experiment was that it kept me thinking about you all the time. You were never out of my thoughts, David dear. Oh, how many nights have I laid awake inventing reasons for hating you, and how many, many times have I ended up by hating myself. I am a very mean, despicable creature. I am a loathsome, poisonous reptile, and you ought to put your foot on my neck and keep it there forever and ever. Now I know why I have been so mean to you. It is because I love you so much. You cannot grasp that, can you? You could if you were a woman.

The boy is waiting for this. How wonderful of you to send him out here in a taxi!!! I shall tell him to go back to town as fast as the car can travel. I hope it is a fast one, because I want you to get in it and come to me at once. I shall wait up for you, David. Please come tonight. You don't know how badly I need you. You must stay here with your mother and me, and I don't want you ever to go away again,—unless you take me with you.

Your humble sweetheart,

ALIX.

P.S.—I wouldn't quarrel with you for five hundred million dollars.

P.S.S.—Oh, how I wish some kind genie could transport you to me INSTANTLY! A.

Sealing the envelope, she sprang to her feet and started for the door. She stopped halfway, dashed back and fished in a drawer of her desk, found her purse and extracted a crumbling bank-note. Without so much as a glance to ascertain its denomination, she turned and sped downstairs.

Her eyes were aglow with excitement, her lips were parted in a divine smile. She was a little out of breath. The boy gazed upon her spellbound. In that brief, transcendent moment he fell deeply, hopelessly in love,—and that is why, a moment later, he manfully endeavoured to refuse the prodigious tip she was offering him. Only when she stuffed it, with her own fingers, into the depths of his breast pocket, directly over his heart, was he able to persuade himself that he ought to accept it if for no other reason than it would hurt her feelings if he didn't.

"You must go straight back just as fast as you can," she was saying,—and what a sweet, wonderful voice she had, just like some kind of a song he thought,—"and see that Mr. Strong has this letter at once. He is waiting for it, you know. You WILL hurry, won't you,—that's a good boy."

"Yes'm," gulped the lad, and then, realizing he had not quite come up to expectations, amplified his promise with a stirring: "You bet your life I will."

She went to the door with him, and said good night so sweetly, and with such a thrill in her voice, that he experienced the amazing sensation of having wings on his feet as he sped down to the gate.

Alix ran to Mrs. Strong and threw her arms around her neck.

"Oh, Auntie,—he's in town. He is coming out and—and I am going to marry him. Yes, I am! Tomorrow, if he'll let me. I ought not to be so happy, I know. It is terrible, with so much grief and sorrow over at—But I can't help it! I never was so happy in my life—never!"

Rushing up to the waiting taxi, the boy thrust the letter in through the open door. It was seized by a big, eager hand. An instant later the owner of that hand was out on the ground, reading the missive by the light of a forward lamp.

He was not long in getting to the end. Thrusting the precious letter into his overcoat pocket, he sprang to the door of the cab, jerked out a heavy suitcase and a small black satchel, which he deposited unceremoniously on the sidewalk, and then dug down into his trousers' pocket for a handful of bills, one of which he pressed into the small boy's hand. Then, turning to the driver, the tall, impetuous fare clapped another into his extended palm.

"There you are, genie!" he exclaimed exultantly, and, grabbing up his bags, was off up the walk as fast as his long legs would carry him.

"What was that he called me, kid?" demanded the driver uneasily.

"Janie."