on tuesday morning pen, dressed for town, was breakfasting with her father in the high-ceilinged, shabby dining-room.

the elder pendleton pushed his plate from him and with an ostentatiously careless air, took a packet of crisp bills from his breast pocket and commenced to count them. it was hard to get any change out of pen, but this time she laid down her fork and frankly stared.

"where did you get it?" she demanded.

pendleton exulted in the effect he was creating. he had rehearsed an answer to the inevitable question. "i didn't steal it, my dear."

pen refused to be diverted. "where did you get it?"

"i sold some lots."

"to mr. riever?"

"none other."

"oh, how could you?" she cried involuntarily.

"and why not, i should like to know?" he demanded, up in arms immediately. clearly his conscience was bad, though he appeared to have reason on his side.

pen was helplessly silent.

"i consider it an excellent stroke of business every way," pendleton went on, puffing a little. "it secures his interest in the railway."

"he has no interest in the railway."

"then why should he buy the lots?"

"he's buying you."

pendleton gave the bills a flirt. "well, i didn't sell myself too cheap," he said with maddening complacency.

pen fumed in silence.

pendleton began to count off some of the bills. "i want you to take some of this," he said.

"what for?" said pen.

"to replenish your wardrobe."

"not a cent!" said pen indignantly. reflecting that she was betraying too much heat she added: "i have plenty of clothes for down here."

"your summer dresses that you make yourself are very pretty, very pretty," said pendleton mollifyingly. "but i'm sure you must be in want of the expensive little appurtenances of a lady's wardrobe; shoes, silk stocking, hats, parasols."

"what would i be doing with a parasol at broome's point?" demanded pen with a snort of scorn.

"a smart yachting suit would be nice," he said suggestively.

but pen looked at him so dangerously he made haste to add: "but of course you know best. you know best!"

"put the money up," said pen brusquely.

"but my dear...!"

"i refuse to dress myself at mr. riever's expense. the idea is revolting."

"you will have to have money in town to-day."

"i have a little. enough to buy a pair of white shoes, and materials to retrim my last summer's hat. that will have to do."

"i don't see why you have to go against your obvious interests," he complained.

pen looked at him levelly. "let's be frank with each other, dad. if you have any notion of mr. riever and i making a match of it, i beg that you will put it out of your head. the idea is preposterous!"

it made him writhe to have his secret wish dragged out into the crude light like this, nevertheless he was bound to fight for it still. "why is it preposterous?" he demanded bridling. "he wouldn't be stooping to you?"

"perhaps i consider that i'd be stooping!" said pen with her chin up.

he ignored it. "it's only an accident that we are poor. remember your grandfather had his place at newport when his grandfather was still swinging a pick!"

"that's only an accident, too," said pen. "you miss the point. the question is not altogether whether he wants me, but whether i want him."

pendleton refused to take her seriously. "oh, the fatal broome pride!" he murmured.

"he's a divorced man," said pen wickedly. her father held strong views on the subject.

"we must not judge," said pendleton blandly. "circumstances alter cases. he may have been more sinned against than sinning."

pen smiled wryly. she did not particularly blame her father. it was at poor human nature that she was smiling.

encouraged by her silence he went on loftily: "pride is an excellent thing in its way. but it becomes suicidal when you allow it to blind you to..."

pen bluntly interrupted him. "i wouldn't marry mr. riever if he was the last man on earth!"

she saw, however, that pendleton was entirely unconvinced.

presently she said: "i suppose it is useless to ask you to return that money?"

by the way his hand closed over it, by the look of irresponsible cupidity that appeared in his eyes, she saw that it was indeed useless.

"then it ought to be used for necessary repairs to the place," she went on. "if we're going to continue to live here, the house must be painted, the roof and the porches mended. modern implements ought to be got for the farm."

"i will consider all that," he said loftily.

"better let me take it to town and deposit it," said pen. "it will make too much talk if you put it in the island bank."

he shook his head obstinately. "it will improve our credit locally."

pen shrugged and let the matter drop. after all she was not implicated. men must be left to follow their own blind ways, she told herself.

at eight o'clock an automobile was at the door. riever's people having had the worst places in the road mended at his expense, had brought this car down the neck for his use around the point. the millionaire resented having to put foot to the common earth any more than he could help—or perhaps it would be more correct to say that his entourage resented it. riever, like all potentates, was largely at the mercy of his entourage. the alexandra was crowded with "friends," secretaries, servants and persons of undefined status whose sole object in life lay in maintaining riever's unacknowledged state. three-quarters of pen was appalled at the existence of such a situation in a democratic country, but the remaining quarter of her found it undeniably pleasant to share in his state. everything about riever moved with so beautiful a precision.

for instance, she was carried down to the old steamboat wharf which had likewise been mended. as the automobile turned in front of the wharf the speed-boat drew alongside with riever in it. they leaped to the island. as they stepped out of the boat, before them was the car to take them to town, waiting with its engine running. pen saw at once that it was not one of the ordinary cars used to carry riever's mail back and forth, but a vehicle imported for this occasion. it was an astonishing car of foreign make, long and rakish in line with an immense aluminum engine hood and a smart, diminutive, coupé body. in other words, it represented unimagined power to carry around two little plutocrats; the last word in luxury. the driver rode outside.

it was pen's first ride in a superlative car. the springs were miraculous. one was but faintly aware of wheels underneath. the body swam along as smoothly as a high-bred lady, only curtseying slowly now and then to a rut. it was all slightly unreal to pen. as they whirled through the village she had glimpses of the staring islanders. it was only too clear what they were thinking. when an island boy and his girl went to town together they generally came home married.

it was a clear fresh morning. pen would have loved to lean back in her cushioned corner and give herself up to the flying panorama through the windows. nowadays there are few roads left like that in our country. the prospect was of a peaceful, long-settled land with nothing garish nor raw; not a factory, not a railway, not a rich man's house the whole way. but miles of pine woods, many old farms, a sleepy village now and then, glimpses of the blue bay from high land; a rickety bridge over an arm of the bay.

unfortunately riever wanted to talk. it wore pen out to talk to him because she couldn't be frank. real frankness was unknown to riever, though he could be amusing. his eyes never lost their watchfulness, nor his lips their superficial smile. this morning he was not amusing. for several days pen had been aware that his temper was suffering as a result of the continued non-success of his efforts to run down counsell. to pen's secret dismay he commenced to talk about it now, watching her keenly meanwhile.

"what do you think of the situation at the point?" he asked.

"how do you mean?" asked pen.

"counsell appears to have given us the slip."

pen said to herself: "i must be bold. half measures will never deceive him." she said to him calmly: "i hope he has."

riever bit his lip. "i wish i knew what it was about murder that appeals to women's imaginations," he sneered.

"about murder, nothing," said pen coolly. "not to this woman. but no true woman could help sympathizing with a man hunted by a pack."

"even if he was guilty of a foul crime?"

pen was not to be betrayed into declaring her belief in don's innocence. "even if he was guilty," she said.

"then what about justice?"

"well, i fancy a woman's idea of justice differs from a man's. to kill for killing gets us nowhere."

"i thought you thought him innocent," said riever subtly.

"how can one tell?" said pen. "the newspapers are so contradictory."

"i haven't noticed it," said riever. "if there's any evidence in his favor it hasn't been brought to my attention."

pen seeing that she had made a slip, adroitly shifted to new ground. "that's just it," she said. "the newspapers are so clearly prejudiced, you can't help but feel there is another side to the story."

"how do you suppose he made his getaway?" asked riever, still watching her. "every yard of the shore has been searched, every native questioned."

"perhaps he paddled across the bay," said pen. "there are convenient railways over on the eastern shore."

"but we had our men there next day," said riever. "and the canoe was not found. no, somebody must be hiding him."

"very likely," said pen calmly.

"but there's the reward i offered," said riever, "you'd think that would be tempting."

"oh, money isn't everything to everybody," said pen.

"you think maybe some maiden's fancy has been caught by his good looks?" he sneered.

pen looked at him full. "oh, do you think he's good-looking?" she said with a little air of surprise.

he was disconcerted. "i? no! but i'm no judge. at college they seemed to think him a regular phoebus apollo, men and women alike."

pen carried the war straight into the enemy's camp. "you did not like him at college, did you?"

"he was nothing to me one way or another," riever said carelessly. "i scarcely ever saw him."

"liar!" thought pen. she said: "i cannot quite understand your attitude. why are you so bent on running him down. is there an old score to settle between you two?"

in the smooth mask of his face, riever's eyes were not pleasant to see. "no indeed!" he said with a laugh. "i am not revengeful. but dongan was my friend. i owe it to his memory."

"i appreciate that," said pen. "still, to give up everything, and come down here yourself. to direct the hunt personally."

"delehanty is in charge, not i," said riever quickly.

pen let it go at that.

"as for coming down here," riever went on, "that was just an impulse. i was so shocked at the moment i could think of nothing else ... perhaps it was foolish. but i can't say i regret it because it has made me acquainted with you."

"you are polite," said pen.

"it's more than that," said riever.

after awhile he said: "you will not be sorry to see us go, i'm afraid."

a glad cry leaped to pen's lips: "you are going!" but she caught it in time. "i sha'n't be sorry to see the last of delehanty and his crew," she said calmly.

"and the rest of us?" he asked.

"it will be hard to settle down into the old dull routine when you are gone," she said.

"i might come back," he suggested.

"father and i would always be happy to see you," said pen demurely.

meanwhile they were bowling along the state road at better than forty miles an hour, but so smoothly that pen had no sense of great speed except when she happened to catch a glimpse of some astonished face in the road. they had a highly accomplished chauffeur at the wheel and the heavy car held her speed up hill and down as steadily as a locomotive. woods, fields and villages were thrust behind them with no sense of effort.

as they drew near to baltimore pen began to wonder how she was going to get rid of riever. he saved her the trouble by saying:

"i have to go to the hotel bellevue for a conference. you'll keep the car of course, and load your purchases right into it. so much easier."

pen would have liked to dispense with the car as well as its owner, but did not see how that was to be accomplished plausibly. at any rate she reflected, the chauffeur could not follow her into the stores. the main thing was to be rid of riever. but she rejoiced too soon.

he said: "i'm taking it for granted you'll lunch with me at the bellevue. we breakfasted so early i ordered lunch for twelve-thirty."

this was awkward. "oh, i'm sorry!" said pen. "it will be impossible!"

this man was not accustomed to be denied what he wanted. the spoiled child leaped out of his eyes. "why?" he demanded.

"so much to do," said pen. "this is a leisurely town. not like new york. it takes time to be waited on."

"but you've all afternoon."

pen was patient, for her. "but think how seldom i get to town. i couldn't take an hour or two off for lunch."

"make it half an hour then."

"please excuse me to-day."

"oh, very well," he said in a pet. "pick me up at the bellevue whenever you are through."

he was in a hateful temper the rest of the way. when he thought pen was not looking at him his eyes darted sidelong jealous glances at her. clearly his suspicions were aroused, and he was meditating some sort of mischief. it was a catastrophe. but pen did not see how she could have acted differently.

it lacked a few minutes of eleven when they reached town. riever got out at the hotel, and pen went on about her shopping with an anxious breast. what would he do?

she was soon informed on that score. as she proceeded from store to store she kept her eyes open about her and became aware finally of a man that turned up wherever she went. he was a burly individual dressed in clothes too warm for the season, and with an expression of unconsciousness that was almost comical in its transparency. spy was writ large on him. pen was a little appalled by this evidence of her adversary's power. he seemed to be able to summon his creatures out of the air. she reflected, however, that it would be easy enough for riever to send a man from his mail car down to the shopping district to pick up the imported car. there was no other car like it.

pen made several attempts to lose her follower in the crowds, but without avail. he looked like a fool, nevertheless he always succeeded in nosing her out like a too faithful dog.

at noon she took up her stand in front of the notion counter at douglas' with a fast beating heart. outside the store she had sought to dismiss her car, saying she didn't know how long she'd be, but the chauffeur had replied that he'd find a place to park nearby and would wait as long as she liked. had he too, been instructed not to lose her? inside the store she would not look, but she was horribly conscious that the burly spy was somewhere across the aisle pretending to examine silver articles. watched or not, she had to keep her appointment. if the girl obeyed instructions all might yet be well. there would be nothing strange in her meeting a girl friend in a department store. but probably she would not look like a friend. nevertheless, pen's great fear was that the girl would not come at all. she already felt flat and despairing in prospect.

pen could not appear to be looking for anybody. with sightless eyes she inspected the stock of notions. there were scores of little baskets displaying pins, hair-pins, fasteners, tapes, hair-nets, all the multitudinous contrivances with which women keep themselves together. it is the busiest counter in a department store. perspiring women elbowed her on either hand. an exasperated voice said at her shoulder:

"if you don't want anything here would you kindly give me room!"

pen in a daze, gave way. she was saying to herself: "she'll never come. it was a wild scheme. you're only wasting your time..."

suddenly a high-pitched, metallic voice beside her exclaimed: "well of all people! how are you?"

pen jumped as if the last thing in the world she expected was to be addressed. half a dozen women turned around. pen seemed to shrivel under their glances. but the other girl carried it off well. she was talking continually. pen got a flash of hard, bright black eyes and a brilliant tight smile. it disconcerted her. she had expected—well, some sort of a pathetic figure. these eyes expressed an infinite sophistication that seemed to open a gulf between them.

pen's lapse was but momentary. out of the tail of her eye she saw a burly figure pushing across the aisle, and the emergency nerved her. with an automatic reflection of the other girl's manner she began to talk back:

"upon my word! who would ever have expected to find you here?" without changing her smile she murmured: "we're watched. he's coming this way."

the other girl's eyes signaled: "i get you!" she said loudly: "how are all the folks?"

"much the same as usual," said pen.

the burly one brushed by, his foolish eyes looking everywhere but at them, his mouth pursed up to whistle.

when he had gone by, "bull," murmured the black-eyed girl out of the corner of her mouth. "pure-bred jersey." aloud she said vivaciously: "you must tell me all about everybody. let's get out of this jam."

with a hand under pen's elbow, she steered her out of the press. crossing the aisle they struck into a side aisle, deserted for the moment. here the man could not come close enough to overhear their talk without giving himself away completely. they could see him loitering in the main aisle uncertain what to do.

the black-eyed girl was an admirable actress. she kept up a running fire of questions: "how's alfred? and the old man? and maud?"

pen's spirits rose fast. it was dangerous, and it was fun. a genuine smile replaced the mechanical one. she rattled off some kind of answers, surprised at her own talkativeness.

meanwhile the two were busily sizing each other up, pen with shy glances, the other with bold ones. pen saw a little creature beautifully formed, very pretty too, with petulant, doll-like features, frankly made up. the idea of the make-up was not to imitate nature, but to create an original artistic effect. she was smartly dressed in a plain black silk slip confined by a beaded girdle, impudent little close-fitting hat, expensive gray slippers and stockings. she carried an exotic little beaded bag. she might have been anything or anybody almost. it is so hard to tell nowadays. certainly she did not smack of the underworld as pen imagined it. but pen perhaps was not much of a judge.

on the other hand pen could hardly have been mistaken for anything but what she was. there was a sort of open reticence in her, a high unaffectedness that was in her blood and could not be hidden nor imitated. with all her assurance the other girl resented it a little. without changing her outward manner the black-eyed one said:

"well, what's the big idea, miss? i don't get you at all. are you a bull yourself?"

"no," said pen smiling.

"well, if you are you're a new type. i know them all. what did you get me down among the orioles for? nobody down here's got anything on me."

"i want to be your friend," said pen.

the other pulled down the corners of her lips mockingly. "old stuff, sister. every con game that ever was started opened with that. can the friendship. you'll need it next winter. give it to me straight. what's the likes of you doing, trailed by a bull?"

"it's a long story," said pen.

"well, my hearing's good."

"if we could get away somewhere..."

"nothing doing! no back alley work for me. this is a first-rate public situation. speak your piece."

"i can't," said pen helplessly. "there must be confidence between us first. you must know that it is something i can't blurt out in a place like this."

the black eyes bored her through and through. curiosity and suspicion were struggling there. it was strongly in pen's favor, however, that she was being tracked by a detective. "do you live in this town?" the girl demanded.

"no," said pen. "i came here to meet you."

"are you alone?"

"yes."

"well, i warn you i'm not. if anything is to be tried on, i got a husky friend with me."

pen, glancing around guardedly, had no great difficulty in picking him out—a nonchalant youth leaning against a bargain counter. he was very well dressed in sporting style, topped with an exaggerated flat tweed cap. his cheeks were as smooth and pink as a girl's, but the glance of his blue eyes was disillusioned.

"he may look like a boy soprano," said the girl dryly, "but i assure you he sings double-bass. it's babe riordan, side partner of spike's, that i brought along. understand wherever i go the babe goes too."

"all right," said pen.

"well, what do you propose?"

"i'd rather leave it to you," said pen.

another lightning-like dart of the black eyes. "oh! ... well, a room in a hotel's the safest place. the leading hotel here is the bellevue...."

"oh, not there," said pen.

"why not?"

"he ... the man i want to tell you about is there."

the girl took three steps to a counter where there was a salesgirl disengaged. "what's the biggest hotel here next to the bellevue?" she asked.

"the southland."

"thanks." she returned to pen. "make it the southland in half an hour."

"but the detective," said pen.

"pooh! he's just out of the egg," said the other with a scornful glance. "he's still got his pin feathers stickin' on him. listen. babe and i will take a room at the hotel and you come call on us, see? that bird couldn't follow you up, could he?"

"no, but he might hear me ask for you at the desk."

"don't ask. listen. babe will be watching for you in the lobby. he'll be sitting there reading a paper. you stroll by him and if everything's all right he'll flash a card under the paper with the room number on it, see? you get the number in your head and come right up in the elevator."

pen could not but admire the little creature's strategy.

but the black eyes narrowed suspiciously again. "mind, if there's any funny work about this, if there's anybody near you when you come by babe you don't get the room number, see?"

pen nodded.

the little one lifted her voice blithely: "well ta-ta old girl. call me up some time and we'll make a date to lunch together. remember me to the folks."

she pattered coolly away in the direction of the burly loiterer, and brushed by him with a negligent hand at her black hair. pen turned in the other direction. the detective came after her. as she was about to leave the store she saw her opportunity. an elevator door was just about to close. she slipped inside and was carried aloft. her follower had to wait for the next car. she crossed the building on an upper floor, came down in a car on the other side, and got out of the store without seeing the man again.

half an hour later she was knocking at the door of room 1214 in the southland hotel. the door was opened by one who remained invisible. pen walked in with her heart in her mouth. blanche was behind the door. she was smoking a cigarette. at the sight of pen's face she laughed.

"for mike's sake don't look so scared, sister. any bull would arrest you on suspish with that face. where is he?"

"i shook him off in the store," said pen.

"good work!" blanche seemed disposed to be friendlier, but was still wary. she said offhand: "just to be fair and aboveboard i ought to tell you i carry a gun, sister." she held up the little beaded bag. it had no draw-string, and she carried it clutched about the neck. when she relaxed her grasp it opened wide revealing a wicked little automatic among her make-up.

pen shrank back, and blanche laughed again. "you are a tender sprout!"

"is that boy coming up here?" asked pen anxiously.

"sure!"

"couldn't i talk to you without him?"

"nothing doing! it 'ud hurt his feelings."

"i've got things to tell you i couldn't say before a man!"

blanche frowned. "say, you talk like a fillum!" she studied pen afresh. "you don't look dangerous but ... say, you got to give me some line on your game or nothin' doin'!"

"you've got to trust me," said pen earnestly, "or we've had all our trouble for nothing."

"trusting's not what i'm good at, sister," said blanche with a vigorous gesture. "you give me some line on your game first. who the hell are you?"

"well i'm going to trust you," said pen. she spread out her arms. "i'm pendleton broome."

for once the little creature was shaken out of her uncanny self-possession. she whistled like a boy. her eyes glistened with excitement. "the don counsell case!" she exclaimed. "you're in that! ... good god! has it got anything to do with me ... with spike?"

"i think it has," said pen. "that's for you to say when i've told you all i know."

"well, shoot! ... shoot!" said blanche excitedly.

they heard steps coming along the corridor.

blanche laid a hand on pen's arm. "maybe it would be just as well if we saved babe's tender ears...."

babe himself opened the door and walked in.

pen observed at close range that his years probably numbered a few more than the eighteen she had at first given him. he was a graceful youth and a comely one, but his blue eyes were as hard as china. both blanche and the babe had the look of unnatural high school children. like actors they carefully cultivated and played up this infantile effect. the hard eyes of the young-old pair afflicted pen with a kind of despair. how could she hope to win such eyes?

the young man pulled off his cap and bobbed his head in pen's direction. there was something about her that made him distrust his manners. his disillusioned eyes suggested that he could be masterful enough with his own kind of girl.

"our friend here says her tale ain't fit for men's ears," said blanche flippantly.

the young man scowled without looking at pen. "what does she take us for, a pair of suckers?"

"oh, i'm not afraid of her," said blanche. "i know who she is."

"who is she?" he asked, as if pen were not present.

"tell you later when i've heard the whole story."

he hesitated, scowling.

"toddle along!" said blanche.

"you're foolish," he muttered.

the black eyes flashed on him. "that's for me to say!"

pen thought with rising hope: "she's beginning to accept me."

"wait a minute," said blanche. "i'll satisfy you." to pen she said suddenly: "put up your hands!"

"what for?" stammered pen.

they jeered at her innocence. "put up your hands!" repeated blanche.

pen obeyed, and blanche with flying, practiced hands felt of her all over, while the young man stood by. blanche nodded reassuringly to the babe.

"i'll wait outside," he said surlily.

"oh, if she wants to mix it up i'll oblige her," said blanche in her flip way. "though she is bigger than me."

"i'll wait outside," he repeated.

"yes," said blanche sarcastically, "and have the maid report you to the office as a suspicious character. go down and read your paper. i'll send a boy for you."

he went.

blanche turned mockingly to pen. "now, darling!"

pen felt dimly that her flippant mockery concealed a sort of despair. she could admire the little creature's gameness and hardihood, but could not possibly meet her on that ground. it rendered her helpless. meanwhile blanche took a fresh cigarette, and called pen's attention to the packet with a jerk of her head. pen shook her head.

"well, don't stand there like a wax-work in a store-window," said blanche. "disjoint yourself."

pen sat in an armchair with her back to one of the windows. she groped within herself for something to go on with. but she felt empty. blanche moved restlessly around the room; plumped herself on the edge of the bed, and jumped up again. she glanced at pen with increasing irritation. apparently a silence drove her wild.

"you're so different from what i expected," pen murmured at last, "i scarcely know how to begin."

"what did you expect?" queried blanche. "a singing canary?"

"i don't know ... i got the idea from the newspaper that you were in trouble."

blanche stared, then laughed metallically. "not me!" she said coolly. "i wasn't born yesterday."

pen perceived the nature of the misunderstanding, and blushed. "i mean, i thought you'd lost somebody ... that you cared for."

blanche bared her teeth suddenly like a hurt animal. "keep off that!" she said sharply.

"but that's why i wrote to you."

"say!" cried blanche, ugly and callous, "if it's only sob-stuff you're after, you come to the wrong shop, see? i don't deal in it! me, i'm water-tight and nickel-plated!"

"why can't you be natural with me?" murmured pen.

"i am natural. if i wanted to work you for anything, i could turn the wringer till the tub overflowed. i'm famous for it. real tears without the aid of the glycerine bottle. but you said you wanted to be on the level."

"do i look soft?" challenged pen.

"don't ask me," said blanche, refusing to look at her. "i don't get you at all. you're completely outside my experience."

pen tried another line. "have you been reading the newspapers about the counsell case?"

"off and on. i've had troubles of my own."

"well," pen said low-voiced—it cost her an effort to get it out, "don counsell is to me what i suppose henry talley was to you."

if blanche was softened she showed it in a sort of back-handed way. "you mean spike," she said. "that's all he answered to."

pen's instinct began to show her the way. "how did he get that name?" she asked casually.

blanche fell into her little trap. she was standing at the other window idly twisting the cord of the blind between thumb and forefinger. her back was to pen. her voice came muffled and jerky.

"because he was so tall. and slender. but not a gowk neither. a peach of a figure. thoroughbred. stripped he weighed 155, and not an ounce to spare. a runner, a swimmer, a boxer; anything that needed speed and wind. and a dancer. the best dancer at steck's pavilion. everything he did, he did out o' sight! class, too. he could pass anywhere as a college boy or a wall street broker."

she suddenly whirled around. "he was a gunman!" she cried defiantly. "make what you like of it! he never asked for the good opinion of the likes of you, and neither do i! he was the coolest head of the lot. he went to his mark like a bulldog, and nothing could shake him off. what have you got to do with the likes of us? what do i care what you think? both him and me had to fight our way since we were kids. we weren't going to take scraps from the tables of the rich. we were out to get the best there was for ourselves. we were outsiders. well, the insiders were our enemies, and we went after them!"

she turned back to the window and began to sob in a hard, dry way that scared pen. the hurrying, toneless voice went on. "to everybody else he was cool and smooth as hard enamel. not to me. he was human to me. lighthearted as a boy when there was no business on hand. you were sure of having a good time with spike. make you die laughing with his wild, comical ways. he was a man. he was real. there was a fire in him ... oh god!"

she turned and flung herself face down across the bed, her arms hanging down the other side. "he's gone! he's gone!" she moaned. "and i'm left! ... oh god, i can't bear it!"

pen went and sat on the bed, and put a hand on the other girl's shoulder. blanche flung it off roughly. rolling over, she sat up with her tormented face not a foot away from pen's. pen did not shrink.

"you talk about loving a man! i know how your kind loves. cool and dainty! what do you know about loving, brought up good with a home and a family and all? everything provided for you. i never had nothing! till i got him. he was the first who ever belonged to me.... i had to fight every inch of my way and be on guard every minute. he had to, too, just the same. but we could let down with each other! it eased us!"

she flung herself down in another wild burst of weeping.

pen let it wear itself out. "i am just the same as you underneath," she murmured.

blanche quieted down. in her abrupt way she got to her feet and went to the bureau. emptying out the little beaded bag, she commenced to rub fresh color into her cheeks, making strange faces into the glass meanwhile. but the tears flowed faster than she could repair the damage.

"oh damn!" she cried, throwing down the rouge pad.

she drifted around the room with her lithe, abrupt movements like a diminutive tigress, the baby face all woebegone and hollowed. "why couldn't you leave me alone?" she said crossly. "what'd you want to get me going for! now you know what's inside i hope you're satisfied!"

notwithstanding the querulous tone pen saw that she had been accepted as a fellow-woman. there was no more strangeness between them.

"what do you want of me?" blanche went on. "what good am i to anybody now? for two cents i'd fling myself out of the window and end it."

"i thought you'd want to know what happened to spike talley," said pen.

it had an electrical effect on blanche. she ran to pen. "do you know? do you know? do you know?" she demanded, moving her little clenched fists up and down.

"i have only a suspicion. we must follow it out together."

"well, open it! open it!"

her tigerish look gave pen a fresh fear. "you must promise me something!"

"oh, my god! what?"

"not to try to take the law into your own hands."

"what are you trying to protect the man for?"

"i'm not trying to protect him. i want to bring him into the prisoner's dock."

"well, i promise," said blanche unwillingly. "who was it?"

"do you know who spike talley was working for when he disappeared?"

"no!" cried blanche. "don't torment me with any more questions. who was it?"

"i suspect it was ernest riever."

the great name pulled blanche up short. she stared at pen with wide troubled eyes. "what for?" she whispered hoarsely.

"would you mind very much," pen faltered, "if i said i suspected that it was spike talley who shot collis dongan?"

blanche smiled scornfully. "not at all," she said coolly. "if it was his job." her eyes widened again. "i begin to get you," she said slowly. "you mean riever hired spike ... and when the job was done ... croaked him?"

pen nodded.

"maybe so," said blanche somberly. "what do you know?"

pen told her. "you see it's next to nothing," she said agitatedly. "they wouldn't call it evidence.... just the same i know! ... what can you add to it?" she implored, clasping her hands.

blanche stood with withdrawn gaze like a little statue of abstraction. "not much ... right off the bat," she murmured. "but it's a working theory. things can be found out ... funny it never struck me that dongan was killed the night spike disappeared.... i knew spike was on a job, too.... but everybody said counsell did that.... i can tell you one thing. it was a rich man spike was working for. one of the richest. he said as much."

"that's something," said pen.

"i knew it was dangerous work, too. because i heard the price. it scared me. and i'm not easy scared. but i couldn't let on.... we were going to marry on it and go out to california and live like other people. raise things..."

the tears began to flow again, but blanche shook her head savagely. "i'm not going to cry again! i'm not going to cry any more till i see this through!"

"can you think of anything else?" begged pen.

"wait a minute.... it was part of spike's job to dress up every evening, big white shirt front and all, he was crazy about it, he could get away with it too ... and have dinner at some swell joint ..."

"could it have been the hotel warrington?"

"that as well as another.... wait a minute.... he brought me a menu card to show me. the top was torn off with the name of the hotel. but i have the rest of it home. easy enough to find out if that's one of the warrington cards."

"yes, yes!" said pen. "anything else? oh, think!"

"wait a minute! ... there was something else.... only a little thing ... more than once spike mentioned that his boss had elegant whiskey. said it stood in a cut glass bottle on a table, and every time he went there his boss would say: 'help yourself.' that seemed to strike spike. so friendly from a man like that..."

"riever is an expert on poisons," said pen aghast.

blanche's little face was like a mask of pain, the lips drawn taut over the exposed teeth. "i get you!" she murmured hoarsely. "the last time spike helped himself..."

the two girls stared at each other.

something seemed to click inside blanche, and instantly she was her ordinary wary, hard, self-possessed little self again. she moved towards the telephone.

"i'll send for the babe," she said. "you can count on him the same as me. he looked up to spike. he's got a good head on him too, for a kid. we'll go over everything together, and then the kid and i'll fluff back. in n'yawk there's a dozen young fellows'll help. all pals of spike's. i'll organize them."