A young man ran up the steps at the Alstine mansion and rang the bell. The servant who answered stared at the gentleman as though there was some noticeable curiosity about him.

There was nothing curious, however, in the make-up of the gentleman.

He was young and handsome, and the reader knows him as August Bordine, the young engineer.

The young man had been laid up for more than a week by the hurt he had received when his horse ran away.

He had seen or heard nothing of Rose during this time.

The unaccountable absence of the detective troubled the young man not a little as well, and he resolved to make an investigation immediately.

"Is Miss Alstine at home?"

The servant answered in the affirmative, and showed the young gentleman to the elegant parlor.

Usually Rose received him in person, thus doing away with the ceremony of servants.

She was not expecting him.

This of course accounted for her not coming at once to meet him.

Ten minutes passed, and then the maid returned.

August looked up, expecting to see the smiling face of Rose.

"Miss Alstine can't receive visitors."

"Is she ill?" questioned the young man in sudden alarm.

"No, she's as well as usual."

"Did you tell her who called?"

"Yes, sir."

The face of the young engineer was a puzzle to look at.

He refused to depart until the maid went once more to see her mistress.

On her return she brought a note from Rose, that was as great a puzzle to the engineer as was the curious acting of his betrothed.

"MR. BORDINE:—There can be no necessity for an interview. No explanation you can make will sunder the facts. I beg you not to come again, as, under no circumstances, will I consent to see you. Your coming now assures me that you have impudence as well as a double nature. R. ALSTINE."

The young man walked from the room like one in a dream.

What did, what could it all mean? It was impossible for August to understand.

His was a dejected mien as he walked slowly homeward. A pair of bright eyes watched him from a curtained upper window of the great house, and in a maiden's heart was the suddenest longing possible to one broken under the cruel treachery of its hero.

"What is the trouble, August?" questioned Mrs. Bordine the moment he entered the presence of his mother.

"Nothing."

"Ah, you cannot deceive me in that way, my son. I know something is wrong, and—"

"Yes, something is wrong," he interrupted with bitter vehemence. "I have been spat upon by a girl, and never until now did I realize what a fool I was to think of losing my heart to a flirt like Rose Alstine."

"August, what do you mean?"

"That Rose has jilted me."

"I am glad of it."

"Mother!"

"I always warned you not to look so high," proceeded the old lady, with arms akimbo, regarding her son. "Not that I consider Rose Alstine high only in money matters, but such girls are always heartless."

Then she went back to her work leaving the young man to fight out his grief as best he could alone.

That evening, while the young engineer sat meditating over the events of the past few days, a sharp ring at the door-bell roused him from his somewhat bitter thoughts.

He went into the hall, opened the door, and peered out into the dimly-lighted street.

No one was to be seen, but a small bit of folded paper fell at his feet, evidently having been but slightly attached to the edge of the casing.

Seizing the paper, the young man closed the door and went back to the cozy cottage parlor.

"Who was it, August?"

But just then the young man was too busy imbibing the contents of the bit of paper to heed the words of his mother.

"MR. BORDINE—Be ever on the alert. A conspiracy has been formed for your destruction. It is time you were up and doing. Silas Keene has already fallen, and you have been marked. I implore you, be on your guard.

"A. FRIEND."

After a moment given to thought, August handed the note over to his mother.

"What does it mean?"

This was her comment after she had possessed herself of the contents of the mysterious note.

"It may mean a good deal," he answered. "I hope, however, that no harm has come to Silas Keene; yet I am at a loss to understand why he remains away so long."

"He promised to return?"

"Yes."

For some moments a silence fell between mother and son, broken at length by a second ring at the bell.

"We seem to have visitors in plenty," uttered the young engineer, as he went again to the door.

On the step stood a small boy.

"Well, my little man."

"A letter for you, sir," and the lad placed an envelope in the hand of the engineer.

Would wonders never cease?

"Wait a moment."

But the boy was gone.

August went slowly back into the house.

"Another letter?" questioned Mrs. Bordine.

"It seems so."

He opened it slowly.

"MR. BORDINE,—It is important that you come at once if you would see Silas Keene alive. He has met with a terrible and unexpected accident, and has something of importance to communicate before he dies. He has importuned me all day to send for you. I have been unable until now, but I sincerely hope this may reach you before the poor man is no more. A hack will be at you door at precisely nine o'clock to take you to Keene's side. If you disappoint him it will certainly hasten his death. Confidently expecting you, I remain 'HENRY JONES.'"

After reading this to himself, the young engineer read it aloud to his mother.

"So the poor gentleman has met with an accident," murmured the kind old lady. "How sad. If we had only known this at the outset we might have had him brought here."

"Certainly we might."

Bordine came to his feet and began pacing the floor.

He was not yet wholly recovered from the shock he had received from being thrown against a telegraph pole some days before, and he would much rather have remained at home than venture out into the chill air of night. He had a duty in the premises, however.

This was the first word he had heard from Silas Keene since he left his home to meet the notorious tramp, Perry Jounce, in Billy Bowleg's saloon.

August thought of the first note he had received—a warning to be constantly on his guard, and found himself wondering who wrote it. Not the detective, for in this note was a statement that Keene had been stricken down. And this bore out the statement of the last letter. It seemed evident that a terrible accident had happened to the detective, or else he had been criminally assaulted. In either case it seemed evident to the young man his duty to visit Keene if possible.

"What had I best do, mother?" finally questioned the young man.

Before asking the question August had fully determined upon his course, but he was anxious to have his mother's approval as well.

"Go, by all meant, August."

"That was my determination," assured the engineer.

She was wholly unsuspicious, and had no thought that her son might go to his own doom.

Why should she feel suspicious? Who would care to harm her son, who, she fully believed, had never injured a human soul?

August had suspicions, however, and he secured a revolver upon his person ere venturing out upon his mission.

Promptly at nine the sound of wheels was heard, ceasing in front of the engineer's cottage.

Kissing his mother good-by August hastened forth. A hack stood near the sidewalk, the door standing open.

It was dark within, but the young man noted the outlines of a man upon the forward seat.

August stepped inside and closed the door. Then the hack rattled away. For some moments silence reigned. August wondered who his fellow-passenger was. Perhaps the one who had sent him the note requesting his presence at the side of the dying detective.