A Discord in Avalon

 Extracted from New Story magazine, July 1914, pp. 1-45. A novella.

Thus far, he had taken no notice of the occupant of the chair next to his; but now [...] Quentin eyed the man, sized him up as a detective or plain-clothes man—then shivered slightly at a light contact. He glanced down to see a hand stealthily approaching his coat pocket.

It was a woman's hand, slender and well shaped, perfectly manicured and with unexpected dimples over each knuckle. . . .

And that was to be just the start of a very curious adventure for Dr. Quentin.

A Discord in Avalon.

By H. Bedford-Jones.

CHAPTER I.

ONE to Avalon. Thanks."

Allan Quentin plunged from the ticket window and at a half run made the gangway of the waiting Cabrillo just as the plank was being hauled in. With a laughing nod to the men, he was across the gap, drew a breath of secure relief, and started forward to obtain a seat.

There was the usual confusion of the usual last moment, with every one debating as to the best seats, and the possibility of finding any seats at all dwindling with alarming rapidity. The frown that had drawn Quentin's black brows together deepened when he observed that most of the passengers shared his dislike of the sunny side of the boat, but his quick eye caught a vacant place forward.

He beat a shivery little man to it, settling down with a sigh of huge satisfaction, and laughingly advised the refrigerated gentleman to take the sunny side and thaw out; whereat the other grinned and obeyed. Quentin ran a quick eye over the rest of the passengers, observed no one who attracted his notice except one very large, bull-necked man in blue clothes and blue derby, and thereupon cast out everything from his mind save sky and sea and the blue-ridged Catalinas ahead.

It was his first outing in three years, and he was enjoying it with his whole soul—though he subconsciously noted that the bull-necked man had very high blood pressure, and that two of the tourists were undoubtedly "lungers." For, though Quentin had left his office and practice behind, he could not leave his profession likewise.

He had promised to meet Tommy Wells and Bunt Green, for a three days' fishing trip down the coast, but it was with some difficulty that he had gotten away. While he was a young surgeon—as surgeons go—he was both strong of jaw and well established in Los Angeles; having buried a few wealthy patients and cured at least one, he was made both financially and socially. Tommy Wells and Bunt Green were social lights who had more money than horse power, and who confined themselves chiefly to the Country Club at the Catalinas, where they lived a languid existence on golf and fishing and Scotch and kindred pursuits. Quentin had cured young Green of fever impregnated with too much golf and Scotch, and, while by no means intimate with the pair, he saw no reason why he should not enjoy himself at their expense.

He gave his shoulders a little shake, looking back at receding San Pedro, and flinging off all worries. Men said that Allan Quentin was a good surgeon but too hardened for his age; yet this was because they noted his cold gray eyes, tight mouth, and rather aggressive carriage, and utterly failed to note the deftness of his fingers and the level brightness of his smile.

Thus far, he had taken no notice of the occupant of the chair next to his; but now his attention was attracted by an unusual movement on the part of the man in the blue derby, whose eyes were fastened at his side. Quentin eyed the man, sized him up as a detective or plain-clothes man—then shivered slightly at a light contact. He glanced down to see a hand stealthily approaching his coat pocket.

It was a woman's hand, slender and well shaped, perfectly manicured and with unexpected dimples over each knuckle. Its white perfection was unadorned by rings, although he noted a circle on one finger which told the tale of a ring recently removed. Then he glanced at the owner of the hand.

She was leaning forward in her chair, her eyes fastened on the ocean, while a look of faint anxiety was evident in her features. Her whole attitude was one of strained concern, uncertainty; but even as he looked down at her, the hand left his coat. With a little sigh of relief, the girl settled back into her chair; the look of half-fearful worry vanished from her face, and her hand dropped into her lap again.

Quentin was thoroughly puzzled. His first thought was that she was a pickpocket, for the Catalina boats made an excellent place in which light-fingered gentry could ply their trade upon tourists; also, the bull-necked man in the blue derby was unquestionably a detective, and seemed to be watching the girl.

He looked down at her more keenly, for women whose hands went exploring were not apt to resent obtrusive stares. But she seemed to have lost all interest in him. It was as though that quick, light touch on his coat had sent flying some wandering uneasiness—and yet the notion was absurd.

His gray eyes softened as he watched her. The face was not beautiful, and still it bore an expression of patience which lent it indefinable sweetness. To Quentin it seemed that this expression might have been born of much suffering, though she had no appearance of ill health, in spite of the frailty of her throat and arms. Her oval face had a broad brow around which rippled a cluster of golden-brown waves of hair, and Quentin suddenly found it hard to eye her with his usual indifference to things physical.

She had removed her hat and the sea breeze was lifting her hair gently, loosing it and sending stray strands playing about her cheeks. A smile curved her lips and she tossed her head back- ward with a deep breath, as if she could not get enough of the salt-scented, sun-filled air.

Then their eyes met—or Quentin thought they did. And upon that, his conceit received a sudden shock, for he perceived that she was staring through him, past him, as though he did not exist. He thought at first that she had noted his detection of that stealthy hand, yet her face was quite calm and unflushed.

"Well?" he said quietly, coolly forcing the issue. "Your hand is a very light one, but I happen to be somewhat sensitive to touch."

He received another glimpse of eyes that met his quite frankly and yet evaded him. They held a peculiar quality in their violet depths—a quality that caused him swift remorse at his own words, and sent unwonted sympathy into his face. Then she gave a quick little rippling laugh and responded:

"Oh, you caught me? Well, I had to see what kind of person you were!"

Quentin was anything but prepared for such frankness.

"Yes—but——" he hesitated.

"Why was I feeling your coat? Isn't that what you want to know?"

"Why, if you don't mind—it really doesn't matter, you know," he stammered, feeling suddenly that he had blundered. She reassured him, laughing softly:

"You see, I could tell from the feel whether you were a gentleman or not."

"Sorry you couldn't tell from my face," he smiled, amused. She turned half away, a little flicker of pain crossing her own face. "And how did you class me?"

"Well," she hesitated, still looking away, "of course, I might make mistakes, but I can often tell by the cloth. I have studied it——"

"But why?" he insisted, wondering if she were trying to lie her way out of a difficulty. If so, it was a poor effort, he thought.

"Can't—can't you tell why?" She turned swiftly, her face to his. Again he felt that swift quality of her eyes, and he leaned back with a catch of his breath.

"Forgive me," he said quickly. To himself he added bitterly: "And I call myself a surgeon!"

The girl was blind.

However, he had little chance to reflect on his own brutality, as he termed it, for she leaned forward confidingly.

"Let me look at you."

Her fingers ran lightly over his face, then she settled back without comment.

Well?" he urged, smiling a little.

"Guess!" She rippled out a laugh.

Upon that, Quentin began to make himself agreeable; she seemed to be glad to get away from the topic of her blindness, and yet she appeared to sense the quick sympathy in him which was hidden from most eyes. His quiet poise had its effect, and soon she was chatting and laughing with him, listening to his description of the mountains behind and the sharpening outlines of the Catalinas ahead with unalloyed delight.

It puzzled him. What was she doing on this trip, purely a sight-seeing one, if she was blind? She was absolutely alone also, as he found by delicate questions which attained their object; yet she was well dressed, and evidently a girl of high intelligence and strong character—and he was undeniably puzzled.

More than once he found the eyes of the man in the blue derby fastened now on the girl, now on himself, in an oddly irritating fashion. Quentin reflected that the man was doubtless a policeman or detective on vacation, and was not above seeking prey in the shape of an unprotected girl. For he did not think it hard to see that the girl was blind.

The two hours' trip sped by rapidly, and long before Avalon Bay opened out he had quietly determined to see that she was cared for, unless friends were at the boat to meet her.

"You explain everything so clearly," and there was a hint of sadness in her tone when he had told her of the wharf ahead and the boys swimming about the ship and diving for coins. "And you don't seem to weary of it!"

"Well, you're an admirable listener," he smiled. "How is it that you're alone?"

She looked away, and, reproaching himself instantly for a brute, with some fear that he would be misunderstood by her evidently sensitive nature, he swung to the subject of the boys around them. The chatter and calls which floated up from the youngsters were amusing in the extreme, and speedily drew a rain of small change from the passengers.

"Aw, come on, sport! Don't be a piker! Loosen up, old man!" shouted an urchin at Quentin, who laughed and tossed out a quarter. There was a rush after it, a storm of spray, and one grinning youngster came up with the coin in his cheek and a yell for more.

"Come it again! You didn't throw straight, mister!"

"I do wish you could see all this!" laughed Quentin in the girl's ear.

"Thank goodness, I can hear it," she answered delightedly. "Oh, throw out some more money! I love to hear them yelling and splashing!

"Did he get it?" she added quickly, feeling the sweep of Quentin's arm.

"You bet he did—caught it in his mouth and was yelling for another before I got my arm down," he chuckled. "But here we are at the wharf—may I help you through the crowd?"

"Is—is there a crowd?" she faltered, suddenly relapsing into timidity.

"No, except on the gangplank. There's a rule here in Avalon, I understand, that all on shore must stay behind chalk lines until the steamer passengers are unloaded and have a chance to decide where they want to go. Are your friends to meet you?"

"I—I—no, I think not," she replied, her hands twisting at her handkerchief. Then she had turned lightly to him, laughing again. "Oh, I've so longed to come here! Do take me ashore, if it won't be too much trouble."

"I'll be delighted," he replied gravely. He wondered, however, why she was so delighted at the trip; perhaps her overacute senses gave her some perception of the things about her, after all. "Come!"

He guided her to the rear of the crowd, which was streaming thinly down the gangway. Ahead of them were the clamoring guides and touts and fishermen, staying well back of their chalked lines, while beyond these were the narrow streets rising against the hill, with the sun-blue sky and bay striking back the gorgeous hues on every hand. He looked down at the girl's face, and saw it quivering with delight; it was as if she actually felt the color of everything, and the hand that rested on his arm was trembling.

"Would—would it^ be imposing on you"—she half turned to him—"if I asked you to take me to the Metropole? After that I'll be all right, for my friends did not expect me, you see——"

"It's a pleasure," he reassured her, admiring her nerve in making this trip by herself. If she had friends at the hotel, she would soon be in good hands, though he felt a little thrill of disappointment at the idea of not seeing her again.

A burly form shoved past him, and he saw it was the man in the blue derby, who was making his way out to the end of the plank. Quentin and the girl pressed forward in his track, and a moment later were standing at the edge of the throng.

Since there was no mistaking the big hotel, he took her arm and they started toward the gate. There, however, he saw the man in the blue derby standing, watching them, and his anger began to rise. If the fellow was trying to enjoy himself, Quentin decided that he would get a lesson shortly. On the other hand, he suddenly thought the man might have been set to keep watch from afar on the girl; her friends might like to give her the impression of freedom, yet keep a careful guard over her.

As they came to the gate, however, Quentin lost this impression quickly.

The detective, if such he was, stepped forward with a sharp glance at Quentin, and caught the girl's arm.

"Just a minute, miss," he said roughly. "I'd like to know your name."

CHAPTER II.

Quentin caught the man's hand and flung it off curtly.

"What does this mean, my man?" he asked, his gray eyes very cold. The other flushed, then nodded his head at the startled girl.

"No offense, mister—I'm Bert Osgood, from Los Angeles headquarters. Is this young lady a friend of yours?"

"Yes," replied Quentin, seeing that he had misjudged his man.

"Let me have your names, please—I'm on a little job over here, but if I've made a mistake I ain't meaning no offense."

There was evident hesitation in the detective's manner, and he had spoken so softly that the girl had plainly heard nothing beyond that first startling sentence. Quentin thought swiftly; he did not know the girl's name, but through his mind raced one that he had heard on Dolly Burlington's lips, and he seized on it to be rid of the man.

"This is Miss Enid Elsmere, and I'm Doctor Allan Quentin, of Los Angeles. It's all right, officer—I guess you dropped on the wrong party."

The detective's black eyes swept across his face, then the man nodded and drew back with a gesture of apology. Quentin took the girl's arm again and quietly led her through the crowd.

"What's the matter?" she asked, looking up at him. "Who was that man?"

Quentin searched desperately for some answer that would satisfy her without causing her needless alarm.

"Just a beggar," he lied easily, and his voice was convincing. "It's all right."

He motioned the crowding touts away, and when they had passed beyond the mob he found her gazing at him with apparent wonder on her face.

"But how in the world did you know my name?" she asked simply.

Quentin gasped: "Your name?"

"Certainly. I heard you tell——"

"I said your name was Enid Elsmere, for lack of a better. My own name I gave."

"Then you are Doctor Quentin?"

"Why, of course!" he laughed, for there was wonder in her face. "But you don't mean to say that your name is really Enid Elsmere?"

"Yes," she said softly, then drew closer on his arm. "But can't we get to the hotel, and then talk? This is too—too public," and she glanced around, or seemed to do so, nervously. "You have helped me, and I feel that I owe you an explanation—and I would like more help——"

"Come along," he said briefly, and determined that she was the best liar he had ever met. He did not know who the real Elsmere girl was, except that she was some acquaintance of Dolly Burlington; but if this blind girl had been in fear of a detective, if she had really been exploring his pocket——

"Rot!" he said to himself, looking down at her face. "This may be the long arm of coincidence, after all."

He guided her up the steps into the big building, waving off the clustering bell boys, and led her across the palm-strewn lobby to a rather secluded corner, where he placed her in a chair and dropped into another at her side.

"Now," he began quietly, "tell me who Enid Elsmere is, please."

He saw that her hands were twisting nervously at her handkerchief again.

"Are you a friend of Doctor Burlington, please? Have you heard him speak of me?"

Quentin looked hard at her, startled in turn.

"No, Miss Elsmere. I know Hall Burlington slightly, but I know his daughter Dolly quite well. I have heard her speak of an Enid Elsmere as an acquaintance, that is all."

"Oh!" There seemed to be relief in her tone, which puzzled him. "Does Dolly call you Quent?"

"She does," he replied in new wonder, and she hesitated again. What could it mean? Why had he never heard of Enid Elsmere except in such a superficial way that the name had never provoked a question?

"Then you are——" She stopped with a furious blush, and he laughed out:

"No, Miss Elsmere. I'm sorry you've heard gossip, but Dolly is really in love with another man, and we're just playing the game to keep Mrs. Burlington contented pro tem. Dolly's a good chum, and I'm helping her out. But you haven't told me who you are."

"I'm Doctor Burlington's niece," she answered in a low voice.

Quentin felt his suspicions revolve again. He had known of Burlington for years, first as an indifferent physician living on indifferent means, and later with wealth from some unknown source, leaping into prominence socially and professionally—a quiet, heavy-jawed man who talked little. Mrs. Burlington, he knew well, had huge ambitions for Dolly, which he was helping Dolly to defeat. But he had never heard of a niece.

"I did not know he had a niece," he said quietly. "Miss Elsmere. if you are in any difficulty, I wish you would allow me to help you. Why are you over here alone? Surely the Burlingtons, who live at Long Beach, would have been glad to meet you?"

There was trouble in her sightless face, and she hesitated again.

"I—I have lived with them for three years," she said slowly. "If you were not a friend of my uncle's, I would be more ready to trust you."

Quentin stared at her, thunderstruck. It occurred to him that she was clever; she might have known of the Burlington family, she might have seized at a straw and made it into a rope—but it was hard to believe. Surely there was nothing about Hall Burlington to inspire those last bitter words of hers.

"My dear girl," he said finally, "I am merely an acquaintance of—of your uncle. If you are in any trouble, you may tell me in professional confidence."

"Even if I said that I hoped never to enter his door again?" she shot out with swift and passionate intentness.

"By Jove!" whistled Quentin to himself. "This is getting in deep!" Aloud, he reassured her briefly: "I make no reservation, Miss Elsmere."

"I will trust you, then, if you will see that I am taken to Mr. J. M. Mathews, who has a summer residence here on the island, and if you will promise not to reveal my whereabouts for at least two months. Will you?"

"Where such a promise is necessary it is seldom safe to trust," he responded. "None the less, I promise, and I will be very glad to help you."

Her hand fluttered to his arm in relief, then fell to her lap again.

"Then I will tell you," she said, simply as a child. "Three years ago I was left in care of Doctor Burlington. He is not really my uncle, though I have always called him so; I think he was a college mate of my father's. When I was orphaned, it was arranged that Doctor Burlington should have the use of my income, and should bring me up as his own daughter.

"This went well for the first year, but after that conditions grew insupportable, Doctor Quentin. I am of age, yet he controls my money unless my sight should be restored, which he assures me is impossible. He has kept me secluded, and although Dolly and I love each other dearly, not even she is allowed to mention me to visitors. People understand that there is an invalid in the house, perhaps, but no more. Even Dolly seems to think that her father is acting for the best—oh, it is terrible!"

She paused, her voice breaking. Quentin was biting his lips in helpless bewilderment at this strange story, truth of which seemed patent in her face and voice; his doubts had vanished utterly, and as he thought of Burlington in this new light, the thing began to assume probability.

"The Mathews," she went on, "are the only people who take any interest in me, for they were friends of my father's also. Doctor Burlington has assured them that my sight cannot be restored, but I intend to make a fight for it—Mr. Mathews will help me, when he understands everything, for he's a very fine lawyer. But you are a doctor—do you think——"

"I do not know, Miss Elsmere," replied Quentin very gravely. "I am not an eye specialist, and Burlington is really a good physician——"

"But don't you see?" she burst out. "He wants my money—as long as I am blind he'll have the use of it, and he'll keep me blind!"

"Great Scott!" exclaimed Quentin. "Look here, Miss Elsmere, this thing can't——"

He paused, for the dumb anguish in her face convinced him. He found his hand trembling, and shook himself together; recalling Burlington's sudden wealth and consequent rise in the world, he began to believe her.

"I can't tell you anything without a careful examination," he went on slowly. "But have you no proof of this thing?"

"None," she shook her head, "except my own convictions and things my uncle has let drop from time to time—but nothing definite. When I slipped out of the house this morning, I met some man in the street who steered me to the electric station, and helped me on a San Pedro car. The rest was easy. But Mr. Mathews will take care of me, and I do wish you would look at my eyes! I feel that I can trust you——"

She broke off, and he patted her hand quietly, soothingly.

"Later, Miss Elsmere, I promise you that I will do so. For the present the main thing is to get into touch with these Mathews people, and I'll soon see about that. I am to meet a couple of friends at the Country Club this afternoon, so as it's barely noon now, I'll find out where the Mathews people are. We'll have lunch here; then, after the Mathews take care of you, I'll be off to the club. J. M. Mathews, isn't it?"

"Yes, James Mortimer."

"All right. Wait here a moment."

He walked over to the desk and smilingly waved back the pen shoved at him by the desk clerk.

"No, I'll only be here for lunch, and we don't care to register. Do you know where a J. M. Mathews lives on the island?"

"Yes, sir—you'll find it quite a little walk, but easy to locate, just off Buena Vista Park. If you walk, the path's pretty steep, but you can go up by the incline railway just as well. It's the only residence up there, and Mr. Mathews only built last winter, after giving up his legal work in the city. Anything I can do for you?"

"No, thank you. I merely want to know where the house is."

Quentin turned, but as he started across the lobby he saw the burly form of Osgood, the headquarters man, come up and lean over the counter, talking to the clerk. He saw the latter fling a quick look in his direction, but it was improbable in the extreme that they were speaking of him, so he returned to his charge. It was agreed that, as she was tired, he would leave her at the hotel after lunch while he brought Mathews down to take care of her, since he could meet his friends at the club any time that afternoon.

So, without forebodings, he passed in to a very happy luncheon.

CHAPTER III.

After lunching, Quentin obtained a room for his charge, and left her at the elevator, in charge of a maid. Then, getting a telephone booth, he called up the club, found that both Tommy Wells and Bunt Green were on the links, and left word that he would arrive about five. Whereupon, with the afternoon before him, he left the hotel and walked down Crescent Avenue with no more worry upon his mind than Enid Elsmere.

She, however, provided worry enough. When he had passed the public gardens and the Greek theater, and had swung aboard the little railway car which would lift him to the park above, he had almost reached the conclusion that her incredible story was a lie.

He had known Dolly Burlington for years, but the intimacy between them had been only a firm friendship. Yet it seemed impossible that he should not have known—hold on! Had not Dolly written him while he was in his senior year at Stanford that her father had been appointed ward of an invalid girl? If she had, the memory was hazy, but once it had lodged the thought could not be shaken off.

He had spent a year in Europe, partly in study, partly in care of a wealthy paralytic, and it was possible that these changes had come about in his absence. In the two years since his return he had been fairly busy establishing himself in Los Angeles, had had little time to spend with the Burlingtons at Long Beach, and Dolly had been too much occupied with her own love affair to do other than accept a situation to which she must have become accustomed—providing Enid Elsmere's story was true.

Upon that the car had stopped. Quentin, who had never visited the Catalinas before, in common with most people who lived close by, obtained his direction from the conductor and made his way along the edge of the Buena Vista grounds.

Presently he came upon the place he sought—a snug home built in Swiss chalet style on the mountainside and having a goodly private garden, even though it was set so near the park grounds that it seemed almost a part of them. Observing that a wide veranda opening off the hillside had as much the appearance of a front entrance to the house as the stone steps which led up from a lower level of walk, Quentin chose the former route, walked the length of the veranda, and rang at the side door.

His ring brought no response, and he pressed the bell again and again. At length he was just turning in disgust when there came a shuffling step, the door was opened, and a wizened old man looked at him curiously.

"Well?"

"I'd like to see Mr. Mathews," answered Quentin.

"Not to hum, sir."

"Mrs. Mathews, then," he said, wondering if there were a Mrs. Mathews.

"No, sir. They ain't nobody to hum, 'cepting me."

"Well, where are they, then? I've got to see Mr. Mathews or one of the family as soon as possible." Quentin felt an absurd impulse to laugh at the little old man, who was plainly impressed with the importance of being left in charge of the place.

"I'm right sorry, sir," and the caretaker scratched his head, "but I ain't sure when they'll be back. Both on 'em went in on the eight-o'clock boat this mornin', and if they stay over in Los Angeles for a show to-night they ain't liable to git hum right sudden. May be back to-night, mebbe to-morrow. Sorry, sir."

Since there was no help for it, Quentin beat a retreat in no little consternation. This unexpected turn of affairs left him somewhat up a tree, he reflected. As planned, the fishing expedition was to leave Avalon that night for a point thirty miles down the coast, where three days would be spent fishing. He decided that he would go up to the club later in the afternoon, arrange to meet the other two men when they came down to embark, and trust to luck that Mathews would be back.

"If he isn't," he thought, "I'll have to chuck the fishing trip, that's all. And I guess I'd better do it anyhow; I'd sooner spend a few hours with that blind girl than with a couple of boozing millionaires, even with the fishing thrown in."

Reaching the Metropole again, he went direct to the girl's room, and the maid admitted him. He reported the issue of his mission briefly.

"Now," he concluded, in his cheeriest professional tone, "would you like to rest this afternoon? Or would a trip to the submarine gardens interest you?"

"Oh, by all means!" Her suddenly eager face fell. "But I must not detain you, Doctor Quentin. It's been very good of you to——"

"Nonsense!" he laughed. "My dear Miss Elsmere, I have positively nothing on hand more than a run up to the Country Club later in the afternoon, and we'll be back before three, as the tourists must catch the last boat back to Pedro. So come along, if you're sure you don't need rest."

"Rest!" she cried, a passion of longing in her voice. "Anything rather than this uncertainty! It seems as though I'd done nothing but just rest for years and years, and if you'll tell me about the gardens I'll be perfectly happy!"

That settled it to Quentin's entire satisfaction. Ten minutes later they went down, but as they crossed the lobby to the street stairs, Quentin saw the figure of Osgood leaning against the desk once more. Reflecting that the detective was no doubt waiting for the afternoon boat home, he dismissed the matter altogether.

Together with a crowd of sight-seers, they piled into one of the sunk-bottomed launches, and were soon on their way. Quentin found that his task was a light one, since the spieler called out through his megaphone what the objects were beneath the glass cockpit, and the surgeon had only to amplify what was said. They passed Sugar Loaf and Moonstone Beach, and Quentin realized, to his own surprise, that the intent eagerness of the girl beside him was drawing him on into a color phrasing of words that he had not known he possessed.

She impressed him strangely, as she sat with her sightless eyes fixed on the glass square beneath them. The cramp in his own neck as he leaned over the railing was becoming pronounced; why, then, did she assume the same position which was of no value to her? With that, however, he remembered the sensitiveness of the blind, and wondered no longer; she merely wished to attract no attention or comment.

He considerately kept his voice lowered as he leaned beside her, and while a few of the other passengers undoubtedly took them for a honeymoon couple, Quentin's hard gray eye cured them instantly of any knowing smiles that might have lingered.

"What are the abalone shells like?" she asked, as a diver went over the bow.

"Concave shells, iridescent and glittering. They are beautiful enough beneath the water, but lose most of their color. Here, I'll take two of those!" he added, raising his voice as the diver came up, dripping, almost beside him, with four or five shells for sale among the tourists.

Her childlike glee over the wet shells, and the way she clapped one to either ear touched him strangely. She had all the frank gayety of a child, yet she had told him that she was twenty-one; and when he looked at her and saw what little impress her affliction had upon her, Quentin began to feel a slow anger rising against Doctor Hall Burlington. Suddenly, while she kept the shells over her ears, entranced, he became aware of two men talking at his side, and the first words gripped him.

"Yep—blind as a bat if any one catches her. Slick dodge, ain't it? They say she's the slickest dip ever kept out o' court, too. She's been workin' the Catalina boats off and on, but I expect they've put the cops after her too late, as usual. She's prob'ly beat it—by jolly, ain't that pretty now?"

The speaker leaned over, silent for a moment as the boat passed over a vale of feathery, swaying blue sea violets, interwoven with feather-boa kelp and shells and the flicker of darting fish. But Quentin sat motionless, his mind in a whirl, until the second man took up the thread of conversation. The girl still listened to her shells.

"Does the pitiful 'help-the-blind' stunt if she gets caught, eh?"

"Not by a blame sight! Dresses like a lady, they say—if a guy nabs her, she's made a mistake and that's all 'cept the apologies."

"Some class, eh?" commented the other. "Well, there ain't any blind game going to work on me, that's sure. I ain't got much, but I need it more'n other folks——"

"Where are we passing now?"

Quentin heard the murmur at his ear, and turned to find the girl waiting for him to continue his talk. With a tremendous effort he forced his mind free of what he had heard, but the beauty of the trip was spoiled for him, and he was glad when at length they turned back to Avalon once more.

None the less, although he managed to maintain his usual attitude, there was an undercurrent running through his brain which it was hard to quell. What had that conversation meant? There was one way to find out, and when they had reached the hotel again he took it. Promising to return for dinner, he left Enid at her room and visited the desk clerk, bluntly asking him if it was a fact that a woman pickpocket was "working" the boats, and if she played blindness when detected. The clerk eyed him a little queerly, he thought, then nodded with a laugh.

"Of course, we're keeping it dark, sir. But I think that there's no more danger. She's not known by sight, but the bulls have a good description, and unless she beats it pretty quick they'll nab her. This is on the quiet, you understand, sir."

"Certainly; thank you," nodded Quentin, and passed out on his way to the Country Club, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting doubts. Was Enid Elsmere the pickpocket?

She had heard that name from his lips, and had promptly related a most incredible story concerning a man of unblemished social and professional standing; what was more, he had swallowed it whole. With but a slight knowledge of Hall Burlington's family she might easily have fabricated the whole thing. And over against this he could only set his knowledge of human nature, the appeal of her blind face and her whole manner—but was she blind?

"By heavens," thought Quentin, his lips tightening, "I'd stake a good deal on that face of hers! And yet——"

The doubt crawled and twisted like a maggot, and he could not down it. If she had seen the detective on the boat, she might have played a desperate hand to win; but he was forced to admit that it had been magnificently played, despite the craziness of her story. What would her ultimate intent be in that case?

It was not hard to guess. At present she was vouched for by him—though he was unknown on the islands—and had found shelter at the hotel. If his doubts were well founded, she would remain there until the afternoon boat back to San Pedro, then she would quietly slip off and "beat it."

"All right," decided Quentin, as he swung up the last few yards of Metropole Avenue, passed the tennis courts, and on to the Country Club, "I'll not return until the boat has gone back. It'll be pretty good proof that she's told the truth, if I find her waiting; we'll leave the matter on the knees of the gods until then."

As he turned up the steps of the clubhouse he felt in his hip pocket for his bill fold and cardcase which contained the greater part of his money. Then he stopped suddenly, and went through his other pockets.

The wallet was gone.

CHAPTER IV.

There came a rush of feet, a vociferous burst of voices, and Quentin was hilariously pulled up to the cool veranda by the two men who had rounded the clubhouse walk, golf bags in hand.

"You're a nice one to give us the slip like that!" cried Bunt Green, forcing him into a Singapore chair, while Tommy Wells sent a steward clattering away after drinks. "Think you're kind of privileged because you've a few initials after your name, eh? Cut it out, doc, cut it out—do you get me?"

Quentin forced himself into coherence. He saw that the pair of them had been dividing punishment between golf balls and Scotch, according to their wont, and he felt suddenly as if he had stepped into unclean waters.

"Not by about umpty miles, Bunt," he returned, looking at his challenger with the calm deliberation of one who understands his fellow man, even though he misses the drift of things. "Sorry I missed the early boat, fellows——"

Green interrupted him with a roar of laughter, while Tommy Wells, with the flabby chops on either side of his double chin dancing with mirth, leaned over the table and howled. Wells was a bit past the talking stage, but Bunt Green winked in a wisely understand- ing way and slapped Quentin on the back with another roar.

"Zow-wee! Did you get that, Tommy? Don't he look like an innocent little lamb, though? Just like little Willy when he says 'I didn't did it,' and wipes the jam off his nose."

"You—you'zh make him flush wish—wish shame," blurted Wells thickly, but it was resentment and not shame that drove the red into Quentin's face.

"Come across, boys," he urged easily, making the best of it. "Throw me a line, for I'm on the rocks."

He felt there was something behind this that he could not understand.

"Innoshence abroad—hic—innoshence——" began Wells, then slumped back in his chair as the steward brought the drinks. Quentin waved him away impatiently.

"Say, what's the matter with you chaps?" he inquired calmly. "Wells, you'll go off with a snap one of these days; I've warned you already about drinking as you do, with your high blood pressure."

"Oh, Tommy's all right," grinned Bunt Green, lighting a cigarette with an unpleasant twinkle in his eye. "Innocence abroad is right, doc. Didn't suppose that we might take it into our heads to meet that boat, did you? They do say this is a great little ol' place for a honeymoon."

"Who's—who's zhe skirt?" inquired Wells heavily, leering.

In a flash Quentin understood—and the comprehension was sickening to him. The mere thought of Enid Elsmere, pickpocket or no, in connection with these sodden scions of wealth was repulsive to him.

"I think you'd better explain yourselves," he said, dangerously quiet.

"Still playing the game like a little man," complimented Bunt with mock ceremony. He made a wabbly curtsy which drew another howl of laughter from his friend, waved his cigarette somewhat unsteadily, and winked again. "Oh, don't bother to explain, old man. You see, we met that boat—and that's all."

"Sure, tha'sh all," repeated Wells vaguely, spilling half his Manhattan over his white flannels, and laughing again at himself.

Quentin had tried to contain his anger, but the half-veiled inference drove his gray eyes hard and cold. He regretted his hasty acceptance of the invitation to this visit from men he hardly knew, yet he could not have foreseen this exact occurrence.

"I think you two chaps had better get a couple of brain dusters instead of more whisky," he said coldly. "If we're going to——"

"Look here," and Green drew himself up with the swift exasperation of a good-natured man more than a little under the influence, "do you mean to insinuate that I'm not sober, doc?"

"No," returned Quentin bluntly. "I mean to insinuate that you're just about plain drunk, Green. If you're going fishing to-night, you'd better get to bed for a few hours and get a bit sobered up. Same to you, Wells."

Wells laughed vacantly, but Green flung his cigarette over the railing and got shakily to his feet, anger in his face.

"You're drunk yourself, doc. You're blind drunk, and I'm going to put you to bed——"

"Shut up, you fool!" broke in Quentin roughly ,as another party of golfers passed their table with curious glances.

For answer, Green caught the whisky bottle from the table and swung it full at him. Quentin rose from his chair, caught the wildly swinging arm, saved the bottle, and then very determinedly flung Green down into his chair, where he lay gasping for air. He turned to the hurrying stewards.

"You'd better take care of Mr. Green and Mr. Wells at once," he said quietly, then turned and walked off.

"Wait!" implored Wells, trying to rise. "Wait, doc—I shay, ol' man——"

Quentin strode back to the street, unheeding, and drew a long breath. He felt as though he needed cleansing before going back to Enid Elsmere.

The thought stopped him like a blow. What was he to do? It seemed to be a cold certainty that she was not only the pickpocket in question, but that she had neatly "touched" him for most of his money. He had ten or twelve dollars left, but no more.

"By George, though, I can't believe it!" he cogitated, walking slowly along. "Yet the thing fits together so damnably! Her hand was at my coat pocket when I first noticed her, and if she had been stalling to remove my suspicion she couldn't have done it better than she did. Then she caught at the name I gave Osgood and it sure took a lot of work to get the story out of her! She either made it up on the spot, which seems most likely, all things considered, or else she was telling God's truth. I'm blest if I know what to believe!"

With that, he sat down on a bench to think it over. Glancing at his watch, he found that he had half an hour before the last boat left for the mainland. Unless he was to catch it, he must stay overnight, and twelve dollars would hardly stand the strain of two rooms at the Metropole. Yet, if his doubts were correct, she would not wait for his return—and then there was the Mathews affair, which might have been a lie also.

"Oh, Lord!" he groaned, dropping his head and staring at the ground. "What kind of a balled-tip ruddy mess have I stumbled into? If I convict her in my own mind, and skip out for home, my conscience will prick forever after. If that impossible tale of hers is true, she needs help mighty badly. I think I'd sooner be taken for an easy mark, though, and lose a little coin in the process than be scared out of helping a person who might be in need of me. Well, what do I stand to lose, anyhow?"

His money was gone in any case. In half an hour he could return to the hotel, and if the girl had slipped away he would simply take her room till the morning, for he had enough money left to cover it. If she was still there it would be a fairly sure indication that his suspicions were unjust,, for she would hardly remain to meet the Mathews unless she was sure of her ground. In which case, Mathews could foot the bills.

Quentin shook his head hopelessly as he remembered that his only means of identifying himself should need arise lay in that missing bill fold that contained his cards, money, and letters. However, he had nothing worse in prospect than an overnight stay on the island.

"I'll do it," he said, rising at last. "I'll let the gods decide. If she's at the hotel, I'll give her eyes a test or two and abide by the result. And I'll go the limit, too—I'll neither think wrong of her nor say wrong of her, and if that confounded bull shows up again I'll give him something to think about."

With that he flung back his shoulders—and found the detective, Osgood, coming toward him with calculating eye. Quentin paused, angry at himself and at the man, but Osgood nodded coolly and confidently.

"Sorry to trouble you, doc—say, is that Miss Elsmere with you a blind lady?"

"She is," returned Quentin coldly. "She is also a relative——"

He stopped suddenly. If the girl's story were true, no word must get out of her relationship to Hall Burlington, at least until she had been placed with friends. Osgood stared at him curiously.

"Yes?"

"She's a relative of friends of mine, and in my care professionally," continued Quentin. "Why are you interested in her? Do you take her for that woman pickpocket?"

"Well, I'd take her in all right if it wasn't for you," grinned Osgood. "O' course, your word goes with me, doc. You ain't got a card with you?"

Quentin laughed despite himself, and reported the loss of his pocketbook. To remove any possibility of suspicion remaining, he went on to say that Miss Elsmere could be identified by Mr. Mathews, at which the other nodded.

"All right, sir; all right. I'll report that pocketbook of yours—sorry you got stung, doc. It was prob'ly on the launch, while you was looking over the rail. Well, much obliged, and sorry I troubled you."

Quentin nodded, then wondered how Osgood had known he was on the launch—unless the detective had been trailing him. He looked after the man, who was going on up the avenue, and then thoughtfully continued his way down the hill.

The last steamer of the day had gone, and it was with no little suspense that he requested the desk clerk to call up Miss Elsmere's room with his name.

"Go right up, doctor," came the answer, and Quentin walked to the elevator with a song in his heart. The die was cast—a simple test or two, and he would doubt no more.

She greeted him with outstretched hands, her maid remaining in the alcovelike bedroom, and the frank delight in her face was so wholly unassumed that Quentin's heart smote him. He found that she was tired, and preferred talking quietly to going forth upon the island again, and she was genuinely glad to hear that his fishing trip had been "unavoidably" called off, and that he could remain with her.

So, dismissing the maid, he took her down to the palm-shaded corner in the lobby, where they sank into the soft chairs and talked. He not only made one or two simple tests, such as passing his finger close before her eyes, but he also told her of the loss of his pocketbook and frankly asked if she had any money. Her childish ripple of laughter disarmed his last suspicions, and she smilingly replied that she had ten dollars, which satisfied Quentin that for the night at least they would be able to pull through.

While they talked, during the hour that remained before dinner time, she told him more of her story and of her life under the roof of Doctor Burlington. The fact that she was of age mattered nothing, for as a dependent the physician had been given the custody of her person and the use of her income; while an appeal to the courts would of course result in her release, she had been kept in rather gilded seclusion, Burlington evidently knowing nothing of the clear, incisive brain which lay behind her broad brows.

"I wonder now that I had the courage—or rather, that I never had the courage to slip away before," she said finally. "It is so good of you to help me—and I am so sorry that I must be such a burden upon you——"

"Never mind that," returned Quentin soothingly. "We'll take a stroll to the Mathews' cottage to-night, and if they haven't come back I'll leave a note telling of your presence here. Unless they return to-night or in the morning, we're apt to have trouble, I fancy. Burlington will trace you here easily enough, through the men who helped you at Long Beach and San Pedro—but don't worry," he added quickly, as her face shadowed over, "I've three days of freedom; I'll wire my housekeeper for money to-night, and we'll soon tumble your worthy uncle off his high horse."

So, having quite restored her cheerful optimism, he tucked her hand under his arm, and they went in to dinner together for dinner clothes have little place in Avalon.

"Well, what will you have to start with?" he smiled, picking up the carte.

"Anything plebeian and understandable," she retorted. "You order, please."

"Certainly," he answered, mentally thanking himself that he had learned the trick of ordering for a fair companion. Dolly had been wont to assure him that a woman could not help adoring a man who could order fittingly without questioning her—and he smiled to himself at the thought. He was beginning to wish that Enid Elsmere could take a lesson or two in adoration from Dolly Burlington.

Having ordered, he laid aside the card—and looked up to see Bert Osgood calmly sitting three tables away, apparently paying them no attention whatever. But it suddenly occurred to Quentin that if this blind girl were in reality afraid of justice, she could find no better refuge than the Hotel Metropole, sheltered as the patient of a surgeon of some little repute.

With a little shock, he crushed the thought down sternly, and a song rose once more in his heart at the smile of the girl-woman who sat across the table and gazed at him with eyes that saw not.

CHAPTER V.

More than once it seemed to Quentin that the girl was on the point of making some confidence—hinted at by the fleeting expression of her face, not by any words; more than once he saw her glance in the direction of the detective's table as though she sensed the presence of some disturbing factor.

"I hope we'll find Mathews there to-night," he said finally, when dinner was all but finished. "Burlington will be over by the morning if he's traced you."

Swift alarm shot into her face.

"Then—if I dared——"

"Well?" he smiled, as she paused abruptly. "Is there anything you have not told me, Miss Elsmere?"

"Yes—I— no," and the struggle in her face was gone. "No, doctor; I must play out the game——"

"What do you mean?" He leaned forward, wondering what lay behind those words. "You can trust me absolutely, Miss Elsmere."

"Oh, it is not that, indeed! But my—my uncle must not see me."

"He shall not, believe me," and Quentin settled back in his chair. After all. her agitation at Burlington's name was quite natural, he told himself; yet—what if Burlington should prove to be in the right? If the girl had a brain tumor, it was possible that her sight could be restored, but as he watched those violet eyes Quentin found it hard to believe that Enid Elsmere was either so afflicted or was even blind. At times the fixed, vacant expression was lost in her face, and in those moments the violet eyes seemed to be scanning him, reading his very thoughts. It was uncanny, and to quiet his doubts he rose.

"I must send a telegram and get a room here, so if you'll wait I'll be back in a moment, and we can start out for the Mathews place."

She nodded smilingly, and Quentin departed to the lobby. Here he registered, got a room not far from that of Enid, and sent a wire to his housekeeper, instructing her to wire him twenty dollars that night without fail. So, with his immediate future provided for, he returned to the dining room, and in ten minutes left the hotel with Enid on his arm.

As he helped her into the car at the incline, he forgot that conversation on the glass-bottomed launch, the loss of his pocketbook, and his fleeting doubts. She settled near him with a shivery fear as the car began to lift.

"Why, it seems like—like some of me was missing!" she gasped. "As if it had suddenly left me alone and I wanted it right back!"

"What a queer child you are!" he laughed joyously, holding her arm in his.

"How—am I different from other girls?"

She laughed a little, as though the idea were not half unpleasant, and Quentin wondered. It swiftly occurred to him that such a thought should have been terribly jarring on the sensitive nerves of a blind girl—or so at least he would have supposed.

"Confound it!" he exclaimed mentally. "Here I am doubting again!" He resolutely cast all doubts from him, and answered her question with a confident pressure on her arm.

"You're different, Miss Elsmere, and I'm glad of it. You can give cards to all the girls I ever knew, and then beat them; the only thing they have on you is sight, and that you may regain, I trust."

"Do you think I can?" She turned her face to him eagerly, and Quentin saw that her eyes were wide set, as though she were looking through and beyond him. It struck him to the heart.

"I do not know," he made earnest answer, careful not to raise any false hopes. "I know of only one cause for such blindness, and that would be a small brain tumor, which could be removed easily. Only a very careful examination can determine."

With that the car stopped, and he helped her out. He paused a moment, holding her hand in his.

"Please promise me one thing; that you will take the thought of regaining your sight very quietly, Miss Elsmere. By upsetting your nervous system you can impair any good I might be——"

"I thought you said where it was necessary to extract a promise it wasn't safe to trust?" she asked, laughing a little. He saw that her poise had been regained, and smiled at the way she had turned his words on himself.

"Surely," she went on, more gravely, "I will do all I can (o help, doctor, "It is entirely to my own interest to do so."

He could not help wondering at her calmness, and he admired her the more for it. At the edge of the park they paused while he stood looking down at the moonlit view beneath, and described, it to her. The curving bay with its white-sailed yachts and other swarming craft, the little city of Avalon with its gleaming lights, and farther on Sugar Loaf and Bachelor Point. She responded to his words as if she felt the utter beauty of the scene, then caught at his arm suddenly.

"Listen! There is music!"

He turned, and caught the first notes of the band concert floating up from the Greek theater in the valley below. It was "La Paloma" they played, and Quentin suddenly decided that the air was not so hackneyed, after all; indeed, this girl on his arm seemed to him not a little like a helpless dove—and to curb the sentimental influence of the night and the thought, he led her to a seat close by.

"Physician's orders—moonlight and music," he laughed. "Ten to one the Mathews people will be doing likewise, if they've come home. If not, there's no hurry."

She did not answer; he saw that she was content to rest and listen to the music, and he himself was far too well satisfied to disturb her. The moonlight softened her face remarkably, deepening its shadows until he could see only the strong curves of brow and nose and chin.

Hardly speaking, they sat for a short half hour while the moon rose higher and lost its warm, early glow. Quentin's reverie was interrupted suddenly when she laid her hand on his arm without turning to him.

"Come!"

He looked down at her wrist, and caught the glint of a silver bracelet watch, with two initials set over against the dial in brilliants. He stiffened suddenly, then spoke:

"Why are the initials 'M. P.' on this bracelet, Miss Elsmere? They are not yours?"

She started, but turned a perfectly calm face to his.

"No—the bracelet was given me by a friend, Mary Palmer, three years ago. She set her own initials in it so that I—I would not forget her."

Despite the quiet words, Quentin had a helpless feeling that the explanation was lame. But he savagely forced down the thought, though he stored away that name in his mind, and without comment led her along toward the Mathews cottage.

As they drew closer to it, he saw, with no little dismay, that the house was dark and seemingly empty. Turning in at the gate, he led Enid up the path, though he found that she was wonderfully apt at evading trees and bushes even without his warnings. When they reached the side entrance, Quentin pushed at the bell in vain, though he could distinctly hear the faint answering ring. There was no doubt of it: the Mathews had not returned.

Nor was the caretaker in evidence. Quentin usually carried a small pocket electric flash lamp, and after seating the girl in one of the porch chairs he drew it out and flashed it swiftly over the door. No, all was closed and screened, and the sight of the girl's silent despair when he told her the result caused him to do some swift thinking.

The failure of Mathews to return home was annoying in the extreme, he cogitated, and it might easily prove much more. Burlington was not apt to have great difficulty in tracing the girl, and he could either take the regular morning boat to the islands or else he would get a launch from Long Beach and come over. In that case, every moment would count.

"I can bluff Burlington or lead him off the trail," he reflected, "but I'd better leave a note here telling Mathews to get down to the hotel on the jump. He might gain time by coming over in one of the Long Beach boats, since he's coming from Los Angeles. I guess I'll do that."

So, taking the girl's hand in his, he placed the flash lamp in her palm and set her finger on the button.

"If you'll hold that just so, I'll write a note to your friend and leave it, and we can get back to the hotel," he said, and since it was necessary for her to hold the light steady he was slow in loosing her hand—quite unaccountably so. In fact, the contact thrilled him very pleasantly. Then, with the thought that he was taking advantage of her implicit trust, he stepped away and explored his pockets for paper and pencil.

Finding an old prescription blank, he scribbled a hasty note, merely telling Mathews that his presence was urgently needed at the hotel by Miss Enid Elsmere and asking him to lose not a moment in getting there. Signing the paper, he read over the note to the girl for her approval.

"That will do nicely," she said with a decisive nod. "Where will you put it? Is there a mail box?"

"Nothing doing in that line," he chuckled. "The mail box is back at the front gate. I'll open the door, or else slip it under."

Taking the light from her, he flashed it over the door again, but found the outer screen door fastened. As the opening was tight, he drew out his pocketknife and without trouble inserted the blade so that the catch raised, and he swung the screen back.

"If my friend Osgood could see me now," he chuckled inwardly, "he'd be apt to run me in on general principles, I guess!"

As he expected, he found the inner door locked. So he stooped over and slipped the note inside, and rose with a feeling of relief. After all, Burlington might not be over in the morning, and Mathews would be easily able to handle the legal difficulties of the girl's situation. In any case, he himself had three days to spare, and he could remain and take care of Enid, if necessary.

"I feel unaccountably like a thief," he laughed under his breath, as he flashed the light across the door again and closed the screen.

"It does feel silent and deserted." She shivered a little.

He put away his flash lamp and was just turning to take her arm when another stream Of light shot full into his face, blinding him. He stood in astounded surprise, and involuntarily his hand went to his pocket in search of his own light again. But a deep voice halted him abruptly:

"Hands up, there—quick!"

Protruding across the ray of light, Quentin saw the ugly barrel of an automatic, with the hand holding it. The sharp light blinded him to all behind.

"What's this—a holdup?" he demanded hotly, but obeying the command.

"Maybe. You two crooks will go back with me now, I guess!"

And into the moonlight stepped the burly figure of Osgood, the detective.

CHAPTER VI.

In a flash Allan Quentin realized the damning incrimination of his position. Were it not for the girl, it would be laughable; Enid had risen with a stifled cry, and Quentin saw that she must now be told all.

He himself had nothing to fear beyond some humiliation, for if Osgood took him back to Los Angeles he would speedily be cleared. But it was another thing with Enid Elsmere. Mathews was the only man who could keep her from Burlington, thought Quentin, and were she to be forced from the island it might go hard with her.

"Confound you, Osgood!" he cried angrily, as the girl came to his side and put her hand on his shoulder appealingly. "I've done nothing to be arrested for! What's the meaning of all this, anyhow?"

"None o' your back talk," growled the detective, his former suavity completely vanished. "Step down here, you!"

"Not on your life!" returned Quentin. "What for?"

"For housebreaking, you fool! That's one thing, and I've got more if you want 'em. You're a slick one, you are! Not slick enough to fool me, though."

Still standing at the top of the steps, Quentin forced himself into calmness, and attempted to argue with the man, feeling at the same time that he would more cheerfully plant his fist on the heavy chin. He explained his business at the cottage to the extent of saying that he was leaving a note for Mr. Mathews, and stated that the note beneath the door would be proof in his support, if it could be got at. To his renewed dismay the detective only laughed scornfully.

"Look here, doc, you pretty near put it over on me to-day, all right. I had you framed up as a galoot pure and simple, but I guess I had it wrong. You prove your identity and do it in a hurry, unless you want to feel the bracelets."

Quentin's chest heaved in helpless anger. He knew that he was undone, for his lost pocketbook held his cards, letters, and check fold; yet this charge was so ridiculous that it irritated him beyond endurance. It occurred to him that there would be a wire from his housekeeper at the hotel for him, and with new confidence he set forth this fact.

"Nothin' like that goes here," laughed Osgood heavily. "You might's well give up that game, bo. I'll take in the lady dip over there for housebreaking, and you, too; also, I got a charge of assault against you. By the time headquarters shakes you down a bit, I guess we'll get your record yet."

"Eh! Say, are you crazy?" exclaimed Quentin. "What kind of a charge are you faking up, anyhow? You'd better go slow, Osgood."

"Come off, come off!" grinned the detective, snapping off his electric torch as Quentin descended a step in his amazement. "You made a bad job up at the club to-day, and you'll do time for it. The town constable got a report on it, and I knew right off who the guy was—and it's you."

"Great Scott!" gasped Quentin. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, beat it!" exclaimed Osgood disgustedly. "Didn't you assault a guy named Green up there this afternoon? Anyhow, he's laid a charge against you, and you're it, doc. So trot along lively now, and the lady as well."

With that it all flashed over Quentin, and he emitted a groan of dismay. His two psuedo-friends had put up a fine joke on him in revenge for his action of that day; he could picture the drunken glee with which Wells and Green had framed up the charge, and then had doubtless gone off on their trip. If he went in to Los Angeles to answer it, as he must do, and if Enid were to be cleared by the only means possible—that of establishing her identity, Burlington would at once assert his legal rights, and she might have to endure no little mental suffering before her friends could get her away from him.

The girl was standing on the top step still, in silent consternation; she seemed to be leaving it all in his hands, for she must have understood what was passing. Did she believe all this rigmarole? He groaned again at the thought that this absurd affair might have ruined him beyond repair in—her ears for she could know only what she heard. He broke out in desperate earnestness:

"Why, man, that was only a joke put up on me by a couple of men who had been drinking a little too much! You can phone over to the city and get my description and establish the whole thing——"

"Look here," broke in Osgood roughly, "I ain't going to spend all night talking to you. I got a charge or two against you, and you're going to answer it, that's all. You can do your jawing to headquarters in the morning."

"But, you idiot, this lady is blind and is in my care! We're going to be at the Metropole to-night, and you've nothing against her that can stand. You go slow on this thing, Osgood, or you lose your star. I'll go back with you to-morrow, if you wish, when Mr. Mathews has returned and can take care of Miss Elsmere here. But don't you try any bullyragging with me, or you'll be sorry. I'm no hobo——"

"Oh, I've got your number," and Osgood laughed as he pushed up the automatic in the moonlight. "Step down, doc. Good alias you got there, eh?"

Quentin saw that there was no help for it, and slowly descended the steps. Enid followed him, her hand still resting on his shoulder for a guide; her fingers tightened suddenly, and he knew that it was a silent expression of confidence in him. Slight as the thing was, it steadied him and buoyed him up wonderfully.

At the same time it served to remind him that she was utterly dependent on him. The whole miserable tangle resolved itself in his mind; he knew only that this girl's entire future depended on him and on his extricating them both from the toils cast about them by the detective.

As he gazed at the man, who was fishing in his pocket for something that jangled, while at the same time keeping his automatic carefully in place, Quentin sensed the wild anger that was surging up in him. It was so unreasonable—that this brute should hold Enid Elsmere's future in his thick hands and never know it! The self-assurance, the confident power of the detective's whole manner flecked Quentin on the raw; the thought of being handcuffed was too much altogether.

"You're not going to handcuff me, my man," he asserted flatly. Osgood glanced at him, noted the ice-cold gray eyes and the quivering nostrils, and promptly shoved his automatic against Quentin's breast.

"No games, now," he warned threateningly, menace in his heavy face.

"I made you a fair proposition," said Quentin, forcing himself- into calm. "I'll go along with you, but Miss Elsmere is under my professional care, and she's going to remain at the Metropole——"

"Cut it out!" snapped Osgood, his left hand fetching out a pair of handcuffs, glinting bright in the moonlight. He shoved his jaw forward in ugly fashion. "I've had enough jaw out o' you, bo. You'll march down to the hotel, and if she's still keeping up the blind game she can have you for guide, see? Now stick out your mitts, you two—your right to his left, girly!"

He chuckled at his own jest as he dangled up the handcuffs. Until that instant Quentin had not realized that Osgood meant to iron the girl. He heard a little frightened gasp break from her lips, and the hand went from his shoulder. For a second he gazed at the detective, incredulous.

Osgood read his startled unbelief for fear, and grinned. But a flame of rage had swelled up in Quentin's brain as he comprehended the detective's intent. Iron this helpless girl! A mad fury settled on him—but it did not destroy his caution.

He lowered his left hand, half turning as if to bring down the hand of Enid with his right. At all costs he must prevent this outrage, and the greater danger to her that lay behind it, he felt. So, as Osgood lowered his automatic and reached out with the open handcuffs, Quentin swiftly struck down with his open left hand and knocked the weapon a dozen feet away.

Osgood was taken completely by surprise. He ripped out one savage oath, then Quentin's fist drove into his mouth and sent him staggering back. Quentin followed him with a leap, in desperate fear lest he draw another revolver, but before the detective could recover himself he had landed a second blow to the mouth.

He missed the chin, but Osgood was goaded into rage, and rushed at him with a shout of fury. Instead of avoiding the rush, Quentin stepped into it, took a glancing blow on the cheek, and brought up his right from the waist with all his force.

There seemed little power in the blow, so swift was it; but the detective's arms flew out, his head rocked back, and, with a single groan, he fell in a crumpled heap over Quentin's feet. It was a clean knock-out.

Quentin's mind worked fast in that instant. A glint from the gravel path caught his eye, and he stooped quickly to grasp the handcuffs. He knew that he must get this fellow out of the way and silenced, at least until a few hours had passed. How he was to manage it he did not quite see, but with the irons on him Osgood would at least be beyond making any more mischief for the present. He well knew that this whole affair would mean future trouble for himself, but he would manage to get out of it somehow, and the main thing now was to put Osgood where he would be safe for a time.

So without hesitation he brought the man's wrists together and snapped on the handcuffs. Then he straightened up—and saw Enid Elsmere standing just beside him, the automatic held in her hand.

For a moment he stood paralyzed with astonishment. He had knocked the weapon into the bushes, he remembered; if she was blind, how had she secured it? Was she blind, after all?

"Where—where did you get that gun?" he panted hoarsely. "How could you know where it——"

"I heard something fall," she said simply. "I found it—oh, what has happened? Why don't you tell me what you've done? I can't see! I can't see!"

Her wail of despair smote him, and, as she dropped the weapon with a little cry, he caught her and held her for a moment, thrilled out of himself by the clinging softness of her arms.

"It's all right, Enid," he exclaimed quickly. "That was a detective who tried to arrest us. He thought we were thieves, and I knew that he must not take us back to the city. I had to knock him out, little girl—keep cool, please do!"

At his explanation he felt the swift contraction of her muscles, the sudden convulsing fear that seized her.

"Oh, it is terrible!" she cried chokingly. "I—I had not meant this—I thought it was all for—I was afraid you were a——"

And with that she fell in a limp faint, and Quentin lowered her to the steps. He straightened up, mopping the perspiration from his brow, and looked from one to the other of the two silent figures in blank consternation.

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed softly. "Now I am in a mess!"

"Well, I'm dununed! Say, what's goin' on here?"

At the voice, Quentin whirled about and saw the old caretaker standing a few yards away. Too late—the thing he had feared most of all had happened! Quentin leaned over and picked up the automatic, quietly shoving it into his coat pocket as he faced the amazed caretaker.

CHAPTER VII.

The caretaker's face was a battle-ground for fear and curiosity and suspicion, with the odds about even. Quentin drew a little breath of relief as he saw recognition join in the conflict, and smiled.

"Any word from Mr. Mathews yet?"

"Not yet, sir. What's all this goings-on?"

Curiosity had won the battle, for the caretaker craned forward to stare at the white form of Enid, and looked up again in awe. Quentin watched the little old man with wild incoherence in his brain.

"She ain't—ain't dead, sir? Who's this here man?"

Of a sudden a desperate plan flashed on the surgeon. Thinking over his first meeting with the old caretaker, he could not remember having given the fellow his name; and, as coherence came to him, he swiftly weighed the chances. When Mathews came all would be well—if Enid's story was true!

"Get some water to revive this lady, and get it quick!" he ordered, making a plea for time. "I'll explain when you get back. Hurry up, man! She's fainted."

"Law!"

The little old man's face shot from wonder into sympathy, and he shuffled past Quentin, who stood motionless.

Should he take the risk? He was staking everything on the girl's story, even to his good name. When this thing came into court, as it seemed like to do, he would have to stand or fall by her; if she was not blind, but was the woman pickpocket using him as a screen——

He recalled that revolver incident. Not even the sensitive ear of the blind could fully account for her swift seizure of the weapon in the moonlight. Quentin glanced down at her face, and its pure beauty, its womanly appeal, sundered all his doubts once more and drove him to quick decision.

"I'll do it," he thought grimly. "The lie will make me or break me. I've got to hold every one off until she gets into touch with Mathews, and if she's lied to me, then God help her!"

There came a glare as the old caretaker turned on the house lights, and Quentin plunged forward to his knees over Osgood's body. The whole scheme had come to him now; it would hold things off until the morning, at least; and, while it would eventually cause a worse muddle than ever, it promised to save Enid Elsmere—which was the main thing just at present.

Swiftly going through the detective's clothes, Quentin found a number of cheap printed cards and letters, which he transferred to his own pockets. The money in the man's pockets he left untouched, but unpinned the star from his vest and fastened it inside his own coat.

Satisfied at length that Osgood had no means of identification left, he started to rise; on second thought he completely emptied the man's pockets of money and all else, determining to make a thorough job of it. Osgood was breathing heavily, and Quentin rose at length to find the old caretaker shuffling excitedly from the open front door with a cup of water in his hand.

"All right; thanks," he said, and knelt beside Enid. "Hold up the lady's head and pour some of this on her face."

While the old man obeyed, Quentin swiftly opened the close-fitting neck of the girl's dress to give her air and loosen her throat. A little locket of gold fell out into his hand; as he replaced it, he noted instinctively that it bore the letter "M" inset with brilliants. His lips clenched grimly; it was not too late yet to——

"For pity's sake, don't wash me away!"

Her hand caught at his, and with that his resolve clamped down hard.

"Wake up, it's raining!" he cried, forcing a laugh. She pulled herself up.

"You may think it's fun to be ar——"

"Don't talk now," he exclaimed swiftly. "Here, lean back against the steps, and keep quiet."

With the words, he pressed her hand hard; whether she caught his meaning or not, she obeyed him, and a second later he rose and found the old caretaker watching him curiously.

"Well, I suppose you're wondering about all this, eh?" he smiled easily. "Here's my card."

With that he handed over one of the detective's cards, at the same time flinging back his coat to display the borrowed star. The old caretaker's jaw dropped, and he looked up from the card with a blank stare. Quentin gave him no chance to speak, but touched the still-unconscious Osgood with his foot.

"Miss Elsmere and I came up to see if Mr. Mathews was home, and we found this fellow trying to break in. In the ensuing discussion the lady fainted. Will your master be back in the morning?"

"Why—why, yes, sir," gasped the old man. "Gosh, a thief on the Catalinas! Who'd 'a' thought of such a thing! We ain't had no such thing happen for 's long 's I can bring to mind——"

"Well, I want you to take care of him for me," and Quentin smiled at the quick alarm which the old man manifested. "He's handcuffed—don't worry. If you have a bit of rope, I'll tie his legs and leave him. Have you got a shed around here?"

"Yes, there's a shed in behind yonder, but—but—gosh! Let the constable——"

"No, this is my affair." broke in Quentin quickly. "Also, Mr. Mathews will want to see the man himself."

The caretaker, visibly impressed by this argument, went shuffling off after his rope. Quentin turned to the girl, and, catching her hand, raised her to her feet.

"Don't say anything now," he spoke swiftly. "I've taken the only course possible, and I'll explain later."

She nodded. Remembering the note, and fearing that the caretaker would read it and discover the signature, Quentin darted up the steps, found the paper on the floor of the hall, and with his pencil quickly rendered the signature illegible. He stepped down to find the caretaker returning, and exchanged the folded paper for the rope the old man bore.

"Give this note to Mr. Mathews the moment he returns. I'll come up in the morning and take care of this fellow."

With that, he stooped over Osgood and bound the man's ankles firmly. The caretaker picked up the hapless detective's feet, Quentin lifted his shoulders, and with much labor they bore him around the corner of the cottage to a small shed. As they set him down, the thump fetched a groan out of him, and Quentin made all haste to be off. When they stood outside in the moonlight again, he laid his hand impressively on the old man's arm.

"You'll have to bring him some food and water in the morning, my friend, but don't believe any yarns he may try to tell you. He may make out he's a policeman himself, or any such thing, but you let me and Mr. Mathews deal with him."

"Sure I will!" retorted the old man fervently, and when they reached the side entrance again Quentin hurriedly bade him good night and led Enid down the path.

"Do you feel all right, Enid?"

"A little mussy—and very foolish," she laughed shakily. "I'm sorry I deserted you at the very worst moment!"

"Oh, tell me something!" he exclaimed, pausing as they reached the inclined railway. "You started to say that you were afraid of something that I was, when you went off. What did you mean?"

"I don't know," she replied, her head turned away. "If you don't mind, doctor, I wish you'd take me right back. I—I feel rather shaken."

Cursing himself for a brute, yet unable to forget her words and the sight of that locket, Quentin said no more as they returned. But that letter "M" reminded him of the bracelet; he wondered grimly if Mary Palmer had also given Enid the locket by which to remember her!

This thought grew on him, and when he recalled what he had just done for her sake, how he had staked his whole reputation on the truth of her story, doubt rose in him and gripped him. When they entered the hotel, he made up his mind; instead of seeking the elevator, he led her to a chair across the lobby, and quietly seated her.

"Now," he began, his eyes on her face, "I saw that locket about your neck, Miss Elsmere. I do not want to appear suspicious, but I robbed that detective of his credentials and locked him up. He suspects that you are a pickpocket who is known to play at being blind if detected. This afternoon some time my pocket was picked. Your name does not tally with the initials on your jewelry. All this means nothing to me, believe me. I have promised you my aid, and even if you have lied to me, even if you were a thief, I would be only too glad to lend you my assistance. All that I ask of you is to tell me the truth. If your story was the true one, I apologize, for I really want to aid you."

He saw the swift struggle that shot into her face, and as her eyes rested on his, it seemed that they must indeed be looking at him, for that fixed stare had vanished abruptly. But, despite the torture evident in her features, despite its reflection on his own heart, he said what he had meant to say, and waited.

Her hands twisted in her lap, and against all reason Quentin felt a mad impulse to cover them with his own. Then she calmed herself with a quiet effort, her face pale.

"I can only say that when we see Mr. Mathews you will be forced to believe me, Doctor Quentin," she said quietly. "I am sorry for all this dreadful affair that has come upon you; I do not want you drawn into my troubles——"

"Say no more, please!" he cried, with a little laugh, rising. "I was a brute, and I am sorry myself. Now come to the elevator, and I'll say good night."

No more words passed between them, but at the door of her room their hands met in silent parting. Then Quentin returned to the office, obtained a large envelope, and sealed up the money and papers he had taken from the detective, writing the other's name across the flap.

"Kindly take care of this," he said to the night clerk. "Mr. Osgood will call for it to-morrow, unless I do myself."

This settled, he visited the telegraph desk and found a message awaiting him. Ten minutes later he sought his own room, supplied with money, a most undesirable alias, and a police star whose magnitude appalled him.

"This bit of nickel is going to get me into a bad fuss," he thought, gazing at the thing. "Well, I may be able to bribe Osgood to shut up, if the thing gets straightened out in time. If it doesn't, I know a rising young surgeon who is going to be in dutch! But I only wish Enid hadn't slipped me that Mary Palmer yarn. That gets my goat."

Think it over as he would, he could arrive at no conclusion. Finally he phoned a call for eight in the morning and went to bed, wondering if the awful muddle would leave him any chance to sleep. But, contrary to his own expectations, the memory of Bert Osgood trussed up in his shed merged into the lap of the waves under the hotel windows, and Allan Quentin ended his first day in Avalon in greater peace than he had passed it.

CHAPTER VIII.

At eight-twenty Quentin was drinking in the fresh air of the new morning from the wharf, as Enid had promised to breakfast with him at nine. The situation seemed not nearly so bad as it had appeared the night before; Mathews would be over in the morning boat to relieve him of his charge, and it seemed less probable that Burlington would be able to track Enid by the one or two men who had helped her at Long Beach.

However, her manner worried him. There was a good deal that lacked explanation, and Quentin began to fear that her blindness was in reality due to a brain tumor; after all, she had only put him off when he had set the matter frankly before her last night. The thing that forced him to believe in her was her appeal to Mathews, for by quiet inquiries Quentin had found that the man was a retired lawyer of some prominence and of high repute. Yet it was a bitter job to quell his forebodings and compel himself to belief; his greatest aid in this was the remembrance of the girl's face. It haunted him, and filled him with strange longings—what a pity she had this affliction, he thought!

He roused himself at sight of a trim launch cutting in around the headland, and caught, the words "Long Beach boat" from a group of boatman lounging near by. As he made out the two figures sitting in the launch, Quentin started; it seemed as though a cold hand had gripped suddenly at his heart. Well he knew that erect, precise figure which had as usual retained its frock coat and silk hat, even on a launch trip.

As the boat drew in to the wharf, Quentin's sudden fear passed into exhilaration. He noted the rather flaccid face, the quick-darting blue eyes, the massive jaw under the crisp gray mustache, and laughed. Since Doctor Hall Burlington had come, Enid must have told him the true story, after all! He forgot all else in that swift thought even to the bound detective who lay in the shed behind the Mathews' cottage; and realizing that he must get Burlington off the track, he stepped forward to meet the launch as it drifted in.

"Hello, Burlington!" he called easily. "Got a hurry call?"

Burlington's quick blue eye picked him out, and the other waved a hand in reply. The launch drew up, Burlington seized Quentin's hand and mounted to the wharf, then tossed a gold piece to the boatman in payment.

"Morning, Quentin—you're just the man I want to see," and he took the younger man's arm. "Come along—are you on vacation?"

"Partly," responded Quentin, falling into step. He noted that Burlington's manner was not wholly free of agitation. "What's up—an operation?"

"No," and the other glanced around, then halted. "Are you free to help me a bit, Quentin? Professional confidence, understand."

Quentin met his eye and laughed lightly.

"I guess so, Burlington. I've a patient at the hotel, but my time's my own. You must be in a devil of a hurry, to come over in a little launch like that, man!"

"I am," and the other grimaced, then fell to mopping his brow. Gazing at him, Quentin felt sudden dislike of the man; to him Burlington had always seemed rather formal and precise, but now it was as though a mask had been stripped away. Quentin no longer doubted every word of Enid's story, and his mind raced desperately. He knew that at all costs he must keep Burlington from seeing that hotel register, and he suddenly resolved on a bold course.

"Did you come over yesterday?" The blue eyes shot into his suddenly.

"Yes—I brought over a girl from Los Angeles. Why?"

"You didn't happen to notice anything of a blind young woman on the boat, did you?"

"Sure," and Quentin laughed again, holding the blue eyes to his. "My patient is a young woman, and blind. What's the matter, Burlington?"

"Her name!" The other gripped his arm, his face flaming a dull red. "What's her name, Quentin?"

"Why—Miss Palmer," lied Quentin, as the name flashed into his mind. The older man's hand fell away, and he mopped at his face again with a sigh of relief.

"I beg your pardon, Quentin—I'm a little overwrought, I fancy." At the pause Quentin chuckled inwardly; his bold ruse had worked, and it was evident that the other man held no suspicions. Burlington hesitated, then laughed harshly, taking Quentin's arm again.

"I'm in rather a hard position, Quentin. I had charge of a girl—a blind young woman who's unfortunately afflicted with flightiness." He was getting back his usual precise air by this time.

"Yes?" encouraged Quentin.

"As I say, she is addicted to melancholia and odd conceptions—imagines that she's an abused heiress and all that. Nothing dangerous, but a very interesting case, no doubt due to a brain tumor. I'm hoping that an operation will fix her up first rate. But yesterday morning she got away—we had her under observation, you understand. From various persons I found that she had got to a San Pedro car and had been inquiring about the islands, and there seems to be no doubt that she came over here yesterday."

"Well, that's easily fixed," suggested Quentin craftily. "A word to the constable here and he'll be able——"

"No, no!" Burlington cried suddenly, halting him again with evident haste. "She is very sensitive, and anything in the nature of a scene might throw her into hysteria, Quentin. It's a matter for me to handle personally, and if you'll give me your help I'll be very glad indeed."

"Certainly, I'll do whatever I can," and Quentin's cold gray eyes and resolute face gave no hint of the double meaning in his words. "How's Mrs. Burlington and Dolly? Have you had any breakfast?"

"No—they're all right," came the confused answer. Quentin had a hazy idea of getting Burlington off to one of the smaller hotels for breakfast. "You'd better take a day off and run out before long, old man; you look rather run down. By the way, I think we had better go up to the Metropole and start inquiries there, and I'll get a bite to eat."

Quentin's heart leaped. This was the very thing he had feared. If he could only keep Burlington away from the Metropole register, he might be able to waste time until the morning boat came in. And if Mathews did not come then, he would simply have to make an open break with Burlington and take Enid under his own protection—though he had a very hazy idea of the law in such cases. However, the main thing was to keep the two apart for a time.

"What was the girl's name?" he temporized, wondering how to manage things.

"Elsmere—Enid Elsmere," came the answer, and his last doubts of the girl fled away. "Still, she might not use her own name, Quentin. The easiest way to track her will be by her blindness."

"Well, look here," and Quentin halted in desperation. "I'll run up to the Metropole and arrange to get away, and also make inquiries. You cover the Stamford and Hermosa, and I'll meet you at the latter place for breakfast. How's that?"

Burlington drew a hand across his heavy lips and nodded.

"All right, Quentin. Hadn't you better have a description of the young woman?"

"It might help," smiled Quentin, thinking that he needed little description of the person in question. He glanced at his watch and found that he still had fifteen minutes to spare. "There'll be no trouble in locating her, though."

"Hope not," grunted Burlington, the blue eyes darting around them until Quentin felt some uneasiness lest Enid come forth for a morning stroll. "However, I know exactly the clothes she wore when she got away. She's a rather small young woman, about twenty-two in appearance, though in reality she's not so old; black-haired and gray-eyed, wearing a deep red dress of some soft stuff, with a dark-gray wrap."

"Eh?" Quentin suddenly felt as though his entire structure had been riven asunder. "Just go over that again, if you don't mind."

The other repeated his description, but Quentin was only sparring for time, trying to keep his amazement concealed. Those few words had staggered him, swept him out of his depth.

"Good heavens!" he thought, groping after some fragment of sanity in the wild mix-up. "Enid is violet-eyed, brown-haired, and has a white dress—and she's pretty near as tall as I am! Am I crazy, or is Burlington?"

There was nothing but the most precise earnestness in the other man's manner, however. He would have no reason to give a false description of the girl, reflected Quentin; but this thought led him into a new maze of probabilities. It was unlikely in the extreme that there would be more than one blind girl out of the lot, for that would be stretching coincidence too far. Yet the detective had been after a blind girl, his own charge was blind—or said she was blind, and here Burlington was after another one!

So far, the only one of the three who had materialized was his own girl. She had claimed to be Enid Elsmere; but was she? She did not answer Burlington's description, and Quentin felt a swift and horrible doubt of her. Was she the woman pickpocket, after all? Had she deliberately builded on the name of Enid Elsmere, with some knowledge of the state of things in Burlington's household on which to base her structure of lies?

The only other possibility was that Burlington had given him a false description, and this seemed utterly improbable, out of the question. There was no reason for it, and Quentin looked up with helpless struggle in his eyes.

"Go ahead to the other two places, Burlington. I'll meet you and we'll either breakfast at the Hermosa—or come back to the Metropole."

The other strode off with a curt nod. Quentin's last words had been born of a desperate idea, a frantic effort to cut this whole weird Gordian knot at one blow. If Burlington had given him the true description of his ward, then the girl at the Metropole was posing under an assumed name.

In that case, a meeting between them would only serve to show her that Quentin had pierced through her deception, and it would undoubtedly provoke a straightforward explanation between them.

On the other hand, if Burlington had lied in his description and she was the real Enid Elsmere, the thing would come to a show-down then and there. Burlington would be taken in his own net, and if he attempted to claim the girl, Quentin decided that he himself could then step in with some semblance of right.

"Just the same," he thought, as he leaped up the hotel steps, "I'll stick by her. If she's a pickpocket, I'll be a whole lot mistaken; but whatever she is or does, I'll give her one more chance to come across with the truth. By George, I can't believe that she has been deliberately acting a part all this time!"

Prompted by a sudden thought that he might find two Enid Elsmeres registered, he strode over to the desk only to have the hope destroyed. Also, the day clerk made a reference to the envelope waiting for Osgood which showed that he was inclined to be suspicious, and Quentin hastily assured him that the detective would call for it that day. He turned to the elevator, wondering miserably how he was going to get out of the net that he had tangled around himself.

At Enid's door he found her waiting for him, and her quiet poise, her air of utter confiding trust in him, almost shook him from the resolution he had taken. Yet—at sight of him did a shadow of alarm flit over her face, as though she read the conflict in his eyes, or did she merely sense it subconsciously?

He laid this to his imagination, however, when he took her hand and answered her greeting, trying to keep his voice level. As he led her from the elevator across the lobby, toward the dining room, he spoke lightly.

"If you don't mind, I'll get you seated, then I'll run over to the Hermosa and bring back a chap I want you to meet, Miss Elsmere."

Try as he would, he could not keep his voice quite firm, and the glance she flashed him only heightened his self-accusation. Then she nodded and smiled.

"Certainly—I'll be glad to meet any of your friends."

"We won't call him a friend," laughed Quentin uneasily, beginning to reproach himself already. "Anyway, you sit down here and I'll be right back. Oh, yes—I think that I'll introduce you as Miss Palmer, too. Your absent girl friend won't object to that, I trust?"

"As you please, doctor," she replied, seating herself.

Quentin hurried away, a little chilled by those final words. He found Burlington waiting for him on the steps of the Hermosa, precise and dignified as ever, but with uneasiness resting in his never-quiet blue eyes.

"What luck, Burlington?"

"None, so far. You did not find her at the Metropole?"

"No, but my patient is waiting to breakfast with us. Come on over, and after breakfast, if nothing has happened, we'll soon locate your patient."

Burlington nodded, his eyes resting on Quentin for a second; then with a rather patronizing manner which was peculiarly offensive to the younger man, he took Quentin's arm, and they walked back to the other hotel.

The next five minutes would take him out of the labyrinth, thought Quentin—in one way or the other.

CHAPTER IX.

"By the way," asked Quentin, halting on the steps of the hotel and determining swiftly to see just where Burlington stood, "from whom did your patient escape? She was not confined, I suppose?"

The other shot him a quick glance, but Quentin's face expressed only interested curiosity and sympathy.

"No. She was—er—being taken care of by friends who lived at Long Beach. It was not thought that she would try to get away, for her mind has never run to violence or anything of the sort. She merely slipped out alone, got a man in the street to help her on the car, and that was an end of it. Her friends wanted to call in detectives and all that sort of tiling, but I happened to find the man who had helped her, and that made all straight. She's over here somewhere, and should be easy to locate."

That clinched the matter in Quentin's mind. He tried to recall any girl answering the description of Enid, on the boat coming over, but could not. In fact, he had been too much absorbed with his own blind girl to watch other people.

"Well, my friend and professional brother, you've lied neatly," he thought grimly, as they entered the hotel. The thought halted him mentally, however. Had Burlington lied to him, after all?

He had doubted Enid's story in the first place, though she had substantiated it by her seeming knowledge of Burlington's family. If her story had been true, Burlington had just now lied to him; yet Burlington had described an entirely different girl as the one for whom he was searching, which would rather tend to back up his own story.

"I can't make head nor tail of it," groaned Quentin to himself. "I'll simply introduce 'em, and that will put the whole thing on the knees of the gods. And I feel blamed sorry for the gods!"

Pleading that there was no time to waste on formalities, he steered Burlington past the desk without registering, they left their hats at the dining-room entrance, and he led the way toward the table at which Enid Elsmere still sat. He reflected that if she had lied to him, it would be poetic justice that he should introduce her by the name of Mary Palmer.

Before they reached the table, Quentin had found the answer to his mental questionings. He saw Burlington's eyes fall on the figure of Enid, then flicker on without any change to the next table. The girl had not been recognized.

This settled one doubt, only to raise another; how could she have known of the blind girl in Burlington's care? The physician's presence proved that there had been such a person, and Quentin had no more doubts that the girl's story had been a true one, whether true as regarded herself or not. However, a moment later they had reached the table, and there was no time to reflect on the situation.

"Miss Palmer, allow me to present Doctor Hall—Burlington Burlington, my patient, Miss Palmer."

Burlington bowed in his precise manner, but the girl's face suddenly flamed scarlet, then became dead white; Quentin could almost have sworn that there was sight in the violet eyes that went from one to the other of them.

"You are now breakfasting with two famous professional men, Miss Palmer," he went on, forcing a laugh. Now that he had found out what he wanted to know, he refused to torture the girl further. If she was a pickpocket—well and good; it was still to be explained how she had known of his own intimacy with Dolly Burlington.

"But it is the gentlemen who are honored," added Burlington, with heavy gallantry. "You are a native daughter, Miss Palmer?"

"No," she faltered, but with an evident effort regained her self-control. "No, I am an Eastern girl, Doctor Burlington. I am merely spending a few months with friends—in Los Angeles."

With this the waiter bustled up, and the girl had a chance to recover, which she did slowly. Her manner gave Quentin no doubt of her evident shame and distress, but at thought of his own simple-minded faith in her story, Quentin felt little remorse at his action.

None the less, he steered Burlington into a line of talk which he could keep up indefinitely; the Long Beach physician had bought heavily in real estate during the past year or two, and consequently was a "booster" of the most virulent type. He talked at length until breakfast was served, Quentin and the girl having only to throw in a word here and there to keeping him going.

Another crisis was coming from a source which Quentin little suspected, however. Before breakfast was half over, a waiter brought him in a note which he tore open with a word of apology to the others. It was a very brief and curt request that he visit the office. Wondering what was up now, he excused himself, and went out to the desk, finding there the clerk with whom Osgood had been talking on the previous day. The clerk nodded at him and led him into the interior office.

"Doctor," he said challengingly, "you left a package here for that bull, Osgood, last night. Osgood had reserved a room here, and he's not shown up; I'll have to have an explanation—I may as well tell you frankly that he suspected that lady with you of——"

"Go easy," warned Quentin, and at the icy flame in his eyes the clerk drew back. "Where Osgood is isn't my business or yours, either. As for that lady, she's a patient in my charge, and if you know Doctor Burlington, of Long Beach, you'll find him at breakfast with us now, and he can identify me. You've made a mistake, young man, and you'd better back water pretty hard, and do it quick."

The clerk tried to stare him down, but the result was only to send him into a stammering apology, and Quentin knew that his bluff had gone down. None the less, he insisted on sending for Burlington, and when that individual arrived and identified him in some surprise, Quentin promptly closed the incident.

"Merely a matter of cashing a check," he explained to Burlington as they returned to their table. The other waved his hand loftily, sat down with a pompous air which ruffled Quentin afresh, adjusted his cuffs, and fell to his breakfast. Quentin smiled at the girl and was astonished to see a little color rise in her cheeks—as if she had seen the smile and took it for an assurance. From that moment he was convinced that she was no other than the pickpocket, and that she was no more blind than he was.

The delicate irony of forcing Burlington to help him out. made him chuckle again, but he longed for Mathews to show up that the tangle might be complete. Certainly this girl had been confident in her appeal to Mathews, and Quentin wondered if every one who came into contact with her was to be drawn into some wild imbroglio. Osgood had certainly suffered therefor, and just at present Burlington seemed to be in for future trouble also!

"Now, Miss Palmer," he said finally, "Doctor Burlington and I are going out to look up a professional case, into which he has drawn me on consultation. You won't mind if I leave you for an hour or so?"

"Of course not!" She smiled up at him with a rather pathetic effort at brightness, he thought. "But you'll take me to my room, first?"

"By all means!"

Burlington shook hands with her in his most precise air, and Quentin led her from the dining room, keeping up the farce. She said nothing until they had stepped from the elevator, then Quentin turned her around gently.

"Well, Enid Elsmere?"

She put out her hand to his arm impulsively.

"Doctor Quentin, you made a promise to Enid Elsmere to help her to escape from her guardian. You gave me to understand that your promise was ironclad. Do you wish to be released from it or not?"

Quentin was taken aback by her firm voice, and as he searched her face he found it impossible to believe that this girl was a shamed, discomfited thief. She was making no plea; she was merely asking him a direct question.

"My dear girl," he said softly, his hand closing on hers, "please let this matter drop until I can get back for a talk. I know very well that you have not told me the truth, but that does not affect my willingness to stand by you; even if you are a thief, as the detective believed yesterday, my promise stands. When I met Burlington, and he told me about the girl he was seeking, I saw from his description that it was not you he was after; now, do you want to see Mr. Mathews, or shall I stave him off also?"

"No," she returned, with a half-sobbing laugh. "Oh, if he were only here now I would be able to tell you everything! Come to me when you get through with Doctor Burlington—I will explain to you then if I can. Please—please continue to trust me!"

"Look up at me, Mary Palmer," he said, and her head came up; but if the vacant, fixed stare in the violet eyes was assumed, he could not tell. "Now, under the circumstances—if you'll pardon my language—wouldn't any man who granted that request be nothing short of a damned fool?"

She flushed. Then, to his amazement, a laugh flickered across her face.

"Yes—but I still make it."

"All right—it's granted," he smiled cheerfully, unable to resist the charm of her. "I'll be back as soon as I can shake Burlington, and get straightened out. I don't know whether you're blind or not, or whether there are three blind girls wandering around Avalon, or whether your name is Enid Elsmere or Mary Palmer—but I'll bank on you, and you can depend on me to the limit."

Her face changed—confidence and regret and perplexity following each other in swift succession. Quentin saw that the violet eyes had lost their fixed expression, but that might have been because of the tears that glittered in them.

"Oh, I—I wish I could have known that yesterday!" she faltered. Then, pushing him back as she averted her head to hide her tears, she left him quickly and entered her own room.

Quentin flung back his shoulders aggressively as he returned to the elevator. So, then, the whole matter was at last out in the open! She was the pickpocket and no other—yet for the sake of her indefinable appeal, for the sake of her smile and the touch of her hand, he was going to help her elude justice at the cost of his own good name and reputation, it might well be.

"Then I'll be a damned fool to the limit," he reflected bitterly. "But I won't believe her a thief until she has told me so herself."

Fate had not yet finished with him, however—or rather, he was still serving as a shuttlecock between fate and Nemesis. As he left the elevator, he saw the desk clerk, Burlington, and another—a pudgy man in policeman's clothes—talking quietly together and evidently waiting for him. The clerk turned to him with puzzled deference.

"Here he is now. Doctor Quentin, this is the island constable, Mr. McBean. I'm sorry, sir, but you seem in hot water all around to-day!"

"What's the matter now?" smiled Quentin, wondering if his fight with Osgood had become noised abroad. The pudgy constable eyed him in hesitation.

"Why, sir, I didn't know exactly what to do—you see, a couple of gentlemen at the club yesterday——"

"Oh, that!" Quentin laughed again in relief. He remembered that Osgood had said something about the constable in connection with the reported assault. "You're looking that up?"

The pudgy constable, whose lack of duties made his office a sinecure, nodded doubtfully.

"Yes, sir. Doctor Burlington says that you're all right, though——"

"Of course, I am," laughed Quentin, and at that he explained exactly how the affair at the club had come about, and stated that it was no doubt a joke perpetrated by Green.

"I guess that's right, sir," said McBean, grinning. "I've been talking to the people up there, and Mr. Green was a little off color, I'm afraid. He's gone off fishing, so if Doctor Burlington will vouch for you we'd better let the thing hang over. It won't do to give the island a bad name, you know."

"Of course, of course," broke in Burlington, in evident haste to be off after his quarry. "I'll answer for Quentin, my man—any one in Los Angeles knows him. Now come along, Quentin. We can't waste any more time."

So for the second time Burlington had extricated him from a difficulty! Quentin grinned inwardly as he followed the other to the steps; he saw a good many more difficulties ahead, notably that of Osgood. But these could all wait, and now he put himself at the disposal of Burlington with a very cheerful heart.

They discussed the affair in hand, and, after a brief talk, decided that they could do nothing except make a canvass of the half dozen smaller hotels. In order to save as much time as possible, they divided these between them, and Burlington strode away with the tourists sending amused glances at his formal attire and shiny "topper."

As Quentin had no intention of wasting his time on a search to which he felt that Enid Elsmere—or Mary Palmer—held the clew, he promptly sat down on a bench and prepared to report failure on Burlington's return. He preferred to postpone his talk with the girl until he had Burlington off his hands.

"Well, I'm in good and deep," he reflected ruefully, biting the end from a cigar and settling down. "Now let's get cleared up. My Enid is probably named Mary Palmer, and appears to be a woman thief whom Osgood is after. Osgood is locked up in Mathews' shed and therefore may be eliminated as a factor. But what about Mathews? If the worst comes to the worst, I can hire a launch and skip out with Enid—or whatever her name is—and get home and wait for arrest.

"If I was a hero of romance, I'd probably lure Burlington up to that shed and pile him in with Osgood. By George, though! If he hadn't backed up Enid's yarn by his own errand here, I'd find it hard to believe of him! I can't pretend to like him a whole lot, but it doesn't seem exactly probable that such high-flown villain stunts could be put over outside of a dime novel. Anyhow, I'm getting to be a beautifully finished liar myself!"

This last admitted of no dispute, and the outlook seemed dismal in consequence. He saw now that he had made a mistake in taking Osgood's identity on himself with the old caretaker, on the previous evening. That in itself might lead to undesired complications, unless Mathews arrived in time. And what would happen then? Since the girl's story had been untrue, where did Mathews come in except as another disturbing factor.

"If I don't go mad first," he laughed hopelessly, flinging away his cigar, "I am due to catch it from all concerned! Well, there's Burlington's silk tile coming down the hill, so now for another bunch of lies, I suppose."

It flashed over him, as he stood waiting, that Mary Palmer no doubt had his pocketbook for him. That must have been what she meant by her final exclamation: "If I had only known that yesterday!" Her explanation, then, would take a very material form; and the sooner made the better, for when he had plenty of ready cash in hand he could visit Osgood and undoubtedly bribe him off his private revenge. Even though Osgood had arrested him falsely, there might be trouble in prospect.

"Well, any luck, Quentin?"

He turned, to find Burlington once more mopping his heavy face, with his pompous air somewhat dissipated.

"Nothing doing," returned Quentin briefly, eying his confrère. "Seems to me you're a whole lot excited over the matter, Burlington. By the way, I just recalled the fact that I'd heard that girl's name before—seems as though Dolly had mentioned an Enid Elsmere to me."

Burlington's cheeks flushed slightly, then mottled. He forced a harsh laugh.

"You're twisted, Quentin. It's rankly impossible. Now, I'm sure I don't know just what to do—a house-to-house canvass is absurd, of course."

"Had Miss Elsmere any friends here?" asked Quentin craftily.

"No, no, of course not!" exploded the other testily. "Since she's not at the larger hotels, we might as well start systematic inquiries along the water front. She can't have got very far without being seen."

Quentin nodded, thinking rapidly. He might as well accompany Burlington and keep him occupied in the quest, since there really was an Enid Elsmere, and since the physician was plainly in no little mental distress over the disappearance. Also, he determined to probe Burlington's mind and make sure of his ground on the heiress question before he committed himself to any definite break with the other. But first he must telephone the girl and let her know why he could not return immediately.

"I'll step into the drug store here and call up Miss Palmer," he said. "I'd better let her know that this thing is apt to take all morning."

Burlington nodded and dropped on the bench, while Quentin strode to the corner store, and got the Metropole on the telephone. When he inquired for Miss Elsmere, he found that she had gone out; and in response to his amazed questions the operator switched his friend, the desk clerk, on the wire.

"Yes, doctor," explained that individual, with a touch of malice in his voice, "a message came for her just after you went out with Doctor Burlington. She also went out."

"What—alone?"

"Yes, sir—and blindness didn't seem to bother her much, either."

"Good Lord!" gasped Quentin inwardly. Then, aloud: "Didn't she leave any word?"

"Yes; she said she'd be back in an hour or less, sir. Oh—by the way, did you lose a pocketbook yesterday, doctor?"

"You bet," uttered Quentin weakly, wondering if she had left it for him. "Why?"

"It was just turned in a minute ago—one of the boatmen found it yesterday in his launch, looked your name up at the hotels, and left it lot you."

"All right," said Quentin. "Get his name, and I'll reward him. Good-by."

He staggered out into the sunlight, too dazed to do more than rejoin Burlington and allow himself to be patronized without protest. After extracting that promise of trust from him—the girl had skipped out! It was the last straw.

CHAPTER X.

"A blind girl? Why, no, Doctor Burlington! You haven't lost one?"

"Oh, no—no, not at all—she is with friends, and I was merely looking them up," and with this Burlington backed Quentin away from the information bureau at the pier, and made all haste to flee.

Quentin chuckled.

"He was more interested in asking questions than answering them, Burlington! I guess the best thing to do would be to chuck the whole thing into the hands of the police. They'll find your blind girl soon enough."

"Heavens, no! My reputation, my standing——" And Burlington rumbled on with more confusion than coherence, until at length he pulled himself together. The quick and vivid interest manifested by the officials in his questions had entirely disconcerted him, and Quentin had not assisted greatly in restoring his composure.

Since that telephone conversation with the desk clerk, indeed, Quentin had grown beyond fearing anything. While they wandered along, he had kept a sharp lookout for Mary Palmer, but without success; also, he had managed to probe through a good deal of his companion's pompous and precise air, to find a growing dismay underneath it.

"I can't see your objection to the police," and Quentin baited him coldly. "The girl is nothing to you except a patient; it doesn't reflect on you that she got away, since she was not confined in your house. Of course, if she was insane or something of that sort, and you had kept her hidden away, it would be different."

Burlington hunched his heavy shoulders in something like a shiver, though it was a very warm day, and his face remained mottled; his blue eyes were darting about in desperate fashion, and Quentin was beginning to pierce to the real man underneath the mask so constantly presented to the world.

Nor did he find it good. Burlington's usual restraint and calm precision were shattered, and as the time dragged past with no result from their quest, the older man's anxiety and terrific earnestness were increased tenfold, dominating all else, and Quentin's merciless jabs, the more merciless because of their apparent innocence, drew blood.

"Well, it looks as if Mary Palmer had ducked to let me take what's coming," reflected Quentin. "I guess I'll drag down another honorable physician and surgeon, just the same; Burlington's a heap more of a crook than Mary Palmer, I'll bet a dollar!"

As they passed the Metropole while making the rounds, Quentin stepped inside and secured his lost pocketbook, which he found all intact. His suspicion that the girl had left it for him had been shattered; there was no doubt that he had lost it aboard the launch the previous afternoon, and with no little relief he peeled off a ten-spot for the boatman, found that the girl had not returned, and rejoined Burlington outside.

It irritated Quentin that he should be spending his time on this aimless search when he had more important things to concern his energies. So Mary Palmer had had a message! From whom? Was it possible that Mathews had—but he could not see just where she had any connection with Mathews, despite her anxiety on the subject. So he gave over thinking of it, and endeavored to drive the whole affair from his mind.

"Here, sit down and rest a bit," he exclaimed, when another half hour had gone by without result, save that Burlington's '"poke" collar was going down fast. Quentin's quiet coolness irritated the older man.

"Confound it!" he returned, though he obeyed the order. "You're a cold-blooded beast, Quentin!"

"I don't see the necessity of getting worked up over this," said Quentin calmly, seating himself beside the other. "By the way, Burlington, what became of that ward of yours? Didn't I hear something about your being given the guardianship of some one, two or three years ago?"

Burlington started slightly, and his blue eyes settled on Quentin uneasily.

"Eh? Why—did Dolly tell you that?" he exclaimed savagely.

"I don't remember where I heard it," answered Quentin lightly. "I'll have to ask Dolly about it some time."

"You needn't bother," grunted Burlington. "Yes, the story was true, but I got rid of the responsibility immediately afterward. I had almost forgotten it myself. Here, have a cigar?"

Quentin accepted the weed, enjoying to the full the other man's nervous and abrupt demeanor. That Hall Burlington was a scoundrel he no longer doubted.

"It's a cinch that all the crooks aren't in the rogues' gallery," he told himself, as he watched the mottled and uneasy features of the erstwhile pompous physician. "I guess I'd sooner be in my shoes than his, right now."

Upon this he remembered that he had something coming to him when Mathews arrived to release the imprisoned detective, and asked Burlington about the boat. To his dismay, he found that the first one over from San Pedro was that on which he had come—the noon boat, which meant that he had two hours to wait. As Burlington noticed his surprise, he stated that he expected to meet a Mr. J. M. Mathews, and inquired if the other knew him.

"By mere name only," returned Burlington nervously. "A lawyer of some reputation, I believe. I trust you're in no legal difficulty, Quentin?"

"Oh, no—merely a personal matter," laughed Quentin, and chuckled inwardly as Burlington rose with an oath.

"I can't sit down any longer, Quentin. Come on—I'm going to find that young woman—I've got to find her! This confounded anxiety is going to make a nervous wreck of me if it isn't settled."

He seemed to be that already, thought Quentin as he rose. Since they had already covered the larger hotels—or at least Burlington thought they had—and the chief places of interest along the curve of the harbor, they struck down toward the canvas city. More than once a splash of dark red among the crowds lured them in vain pursuit, and the farther they went the more Burlington lost of his precise air and dignified pose. He had plainly counted it a small task to locate Enid Elsmere in Avalon, and Quentin managed to forget his own troubles in watching Burlington's poise grow beautifully less.

He had never liked the older man particularly, for Burlington's cold manner was not calculated to attract men to him. Now that this was stripped from him, Quentin liked him even less; underneath the mask lay a sheer brutal violence which was somewhat of a surprise to him, while it bore out the story told him by Mary Palmer—though he could not see how she had become aware of it. That was a problem which Quentin resolutely shut out of his mind, however; in some way the girl had learned how things stood, and since she had skipped out in order to avoid an explanation, he was determined to probe Burlington to the depths.

Finally they ran across Constable McBean, and in helpless despair Burlington called in his services to find Miss Elsmere; since McBean's principal duty was to keep anything in the nature of a disturbance under cover, he nodded solemnly in pledge of secrecy, and bustled off without delay.

"Good God!" breathed Burlington hoarsely, mopping at his face as he watched the retreating blue form. "I can't stand this suspense, Quentin! We should have found that girl without any trouble I wonder what could have happened to her?"

"Perhaps she found friends," suggested Quentin cruelly, and the other groaned.

"No. She—she was practically unknown." Burlington glanced around wildly, and Quentin made haste to get him out of the sun. The older man looked startlingly close to apoplexy, he thought.

"If—if she gets hold of people, Quentin—she'll play on their sympathies and make all kinds of trouble for me. Confound it, I'll have her examined for insanity if we get hold of her——"

"Eh? I thought you said she was nothing to you?" broke in Quentin mercilessly.

"She's not." Burlington wrenched at his collar, and his heavy jaw shoved out as he glared suspiciously at the younger man. "What are you trying to insinuate, Quentin? You'd better watch your words——"

"Come, come, keep your self-control, Burlington," said Quentin sternly. "I'm not insinuating anything—you're the one to watch your words, I guess."

"I beg your pardon," muttered the other, trying to collect himself. "I'm a bit worked up, old man; you'll have to overlook what I say. Come on, let's get up to the Metropole and sit down a bit in the cool. I'm afraid I'm getting old, Quentin."

The younger man laughed, and started along beside him to the hotel. A moment later, however, he suddenly caught sight of a hatless figure a short half block away, and stood paralyzed. There was no mistaking the heavy, undershot jaw, and the burly form—and worse yet, the other had seen him. He must have left the key of those handcuffs somewhere in Osgood's pockets, Quentin thought. Nemesis had come upon him!

CHAPTER XI.

"I guess you'll have to identify me again, Burlington," said Quentin coolly, watching the detective bearing down upon them. "Here comes a chap who took me for a housebreaker last night when I was up at Mathews' cottage. I had a scrap with him and left him tied up."

"You seem to be making the most of your holiday," grunted Burlington, stopping.

Quentin laughed a little. Fairly breathing forth rage and vengeance, Osgood came striding down on them; his face was purple with suppressed fury, his clothes were torn and awry, and he looked anything but prepossessing. Quentin quietly reached for his pocketbook, extracting a twenty-dollar bill, and stood holding it unostentatiously as the detective raged up with fists waving.

"You—you—you——" gasped Osgood, choked by his own vehement anger.

"Hello, old man!" chuckled Quentin pleasantly. "Been detained?"

The detective managed to emit an oath, but he was unarmed and plainly had not any great desire to taste Quentin's fist again, without the requisite backing.

"You come along with me, you dirty crook!" he stormed, careless of the passing tourists who paused to watch him curiously. "I've got the goods on you now, all right, and I'll land you for ten years——"

"Here, what's all this row?" demanded Burlington with some asperity. He had managed to regain some of his customary air; which, in conjunction with his silk hat and frock coat, impressed the detective to the point of giving definite and coherent answer. "You can't go on like this in the street, my man. What does this mean, anyway?"

"It means that I'm a headquarters man," returned Osgood truculently, transferring his attentions to Burlington, who instantly ruffled up. Quentin reached up, took the star from his vest, and silently folded the twenty-dollar bill under it. "Don't you come any of your gay stuff on me, or I'll pull you along with this pal of yours. What's your name?"

"My name is Burlington, my man—Hall Burlington, M.D., of Long Beach," stiffly answered the other, his ire restoring all his pompous air. "A little more of your impertinence, sir, and I'll have the officials deport you from the island."

There was nothing weak about Hall Burlington. For all his rage, the keen-eyed detective gave back before the other's bristling dignity; accustomed to judge men, Osgood was sobered down on the instant, being placed on the defensive.

"No offense," he blurted out. "Only you're trailin' around with this fellow, and he's playing the doctor game likewise."

"I take it you're a detective?" queried Burlington. Quentin saw that his bullying instincts were fully aroused, and chuckled to himself.

"I am that," retorted Osgood bluntly. "And if you're what you say, show me. I ain't aiming to be offensive, doc, but I'm goin' to run in this guy and do it prompt."

"I fancy not," exploded Burlington. "This gentleman is Doctor Allan Quentin, and is very well known to me; if you have any doubt as to my character, sir, you may make inquiries of any of the officials here. Now explain the meaning of this outrage, or I shall take this matter up with your superiors. I don't fancy being made the butt of a crowd of people by a bull-headed plain-clothes man."

As he spoke, Burlington glared around at the curious tourists who had assembled; some of these moved on hastily, others gave him brazen applause, which was as a red rag to a bull. Osgood flung a black look at Quentin.

"Doc, you're the goods, I guess; since this guy is your friend, I'll put it up to you, and you can come over and go bail for him if you want to."

With that, Osgood gave a succinct description of what had happened on the previous evening from his point of view, briefly prefacing it with his tale of the pickpocket and concluding with the story of how he had gotten away from the shed.

"My name was on my gun belt, and when I made that old fool of a caretaker understand what was what, half an hour ago, he unlocked me, and here I am. Now, doc, I ain't got my gun, but if your friend here wants to start anything, I guess he'll get all he's after. This thing is kind o' balled up, but I know what assault is, all right."

Quentin stepped forward, holding out the star and smiling a little.

"Here's your badge, Osgood. You might need it."

The detective gave him another black look and reached out; as his hand closed around the star and he felt the folded bill, he glanced down quickly. The black look vanished, and Quentin drew out his pocketbook, telling of how it had been located.

"Now, Osgood, here are cards and papers to establish my identity," he laughed easily. "As for our little scrap, you forced that yourself, but I'm quite willing to make it right with you. I told you the exact truth last night when I said that I had put a note under the door for Mr. Mathews——"

"I know that," interrupted the other, shoving the bill into his pocket with a furtive grin. "I seen it this morning after I'd got free. Now if the other doc here will step over to the pier, we can fix this thing up with the officials, I guess."

Quentin grinned to himself. Great was the power of money! That twenty-dollar bill had changed the detective's whole outlook on life in a flash; from a blustering, vengeance-seeking minion of the law he had become a person very anxious to oblige. Of course, Burlington's aid had been all-powerful, and the production of the pocketbook had substantiated the story, yet at the back of the change in Osgood had been that folded bill under the star. After all, one's point of view largely depends on the cash in hand, thought Quentin.

He reckoned without his host, however. At this instant the detective paused and directed a puzzled look toward him.

"Say. I clear forgot about that girl! Maybe the other doc here can straighten that up, too I mean that there Miss Elsmere you was toting around."

"Eh? What's that? Miss Elsmere?" Burlington halted suddenly, his heavy jaw falling as he stared at Osgood.

Quentin's face went white. Now the fat was in the fire, indeed! Suspicion had darted swiftly into the detective's face once more, Burlington was staring from one to the other of them in bewildered surmise, and Quentin saw that the show-down was imminent with no sign of Mathews in guise of rescuer. However, since Mary Palmer had disappeared, it did not matter.

"Never mind this chump, Burlington," said Quentin hastily. "He's a bit twisted about things——"

"Not much!" exclaimed the physician savagely, his ugly jaw shoving out. "This detective has been in touch with the young woman, and I intend to find out about it. Now, my man, I want to know where you heard the name of Miss Elsmere."

Quentin subsided. The game was up, indeed, and he would need all his energies if he was to come out of the thing decently. He suddenly perceived that Burlington would be an exceedingly ugly customer to deal with.

"I don't know a whole lot, doc," answered the detective slowly. "This here friend of yours can tell you more than I can. I was sent from headquarters to nab a woman thief, like I told you. I spotted a blind girl with this guy on the boat, yesterday, comin' over from Pedro. I butted in and asked the skirt's name, this guy answers up that it's Miss Enid Elsmere, and says who he is, so I thinks maybe I've made a mistake. That's all I know about the lady, except what come after, like I told you."

During this brief recital Burlington's face became black with suspicion and suppressed rage. When Osgood finished, he whirled on Quentin; but for all his anger there was a hint of fear in the darting blue eyes.

"Quentin, you met Miss Elsmere on the boat?" he exclaimed, forcing himself into calm. Quentin, seeing that he still held a lash over the older man, smiled slightly, although his eyes hardened.

"I did not," he returned flatly. "Nor did I see anything of her."

Burlington gasped, and took a step forward with outstretched fist, baffled fury in his face.

"Don't lie to me, Quentin!" he stormed. "I'm no——"

"Look here," and the cold acid of Quentin's voice bit through his vehemence and quieted him. "I don't propose to be called a liar by you, Burlington. This thing can be explained, but I want an apology from you for that word, and I want it now."

Osgood grinned furtively as he listened. The steely note in Quentin's voice, which had failed to warn the detective on the previous evening, had its effect on Burlington, whose eyes rested on Quentin's. The younger man's icy coldness pierced Burlington's rage and sobered him on the instant.

"I didn't mean to be hasty, Quentin," he retracted. "But there's something behind all this, and I'm going to get to it. Have you been trying to play with me, sir? Why have you been concealing your knowledge of this young lady, and pretending to help me in seeking for her?"

Osgood suddenly remembered his personal property, and the effects of the twenty-dollar bill faded out. He pushed forward, facing Quentin with swift truculence.

"Say, where's my money and the stuff you took from me, hey? This thing ain't been squared up yet——"

"Oh, shut up!" broke out Quentin, and at the flame in his eyes Osgood retreated a pace. "Your stuff is at the hotel desk, waiting for you. Now get out of this, and let me settle matters with Burlington. Your injuries are wholly personal, and you'll find your money all safe and sound."

He impatiently shoved the burly detective aside, but Burlington had not yet done with the man. Catching his arm, he whirled him about.

"See here, Osgood—what was this blind girl like whom you saw with Quentin on the boat?"

The detective gave prompt reply.

"She had fluffy brown hair, wore a white, tailored suit, and was neat as a pin. The dip I was after had played the fine lady, so——"

"What? You're sure her hair was not black! Was she tall or short?"

"Tall, doc. Tall and fair."

"Good heavens!" Burlington took a step back, brushing a hand across his eyes in bewilderment. Osgood's tone was too positive to admit of doubt, and Quentin laughed shortly.

"You see, Burlington, the girl Osgood saw with me was Miss Palmer and no other. Now let's get out of this we can go to my room at the hotel, and I'll have it out with you if you want it."

"Wait!" cried Burlington hoarsely, staring at him. "Why did you give her Miss Elsmere's name? How had you heard anything of Miss Elsmere? If her name was Palmer, why did you lie to Osgood about it?"

"By thunder, that's right, doc!" blurted out the detective, whirling angrily on Quentin. "So you gave me a bum steer, eh? I guess we ain't out of the woods on this thing yet, bo! Now come across lively, or there'll be trouble."

Quentin gave him a contemptuous look. The gathering crowd irritated him, for he had no mind to expose his hand in public, and since the thing had to come out, he determined to take the aggressive before Burlington had a chance to do so.

"All right," he said shortly, facing Burlington. "If you want it straight, my friend, you can have it. I've been doing a heap of lying this morning, Burlington, and it ends right here. I happen to know all about Enid Elsmere, your villainy in connection with her, your keeping her hidden away in your house, and all the rest of it. What's more, you've got to move mighty softly if you're going to side-step the biggest scandal that ever woke up this part of the world."

His quiet but intense words had all the effect for which he could have wished. The big physician's bloodshot face went white as he listened, then became mottled again; he breathed stertorously, and there was terror in his wild stare, but it was the terror of desperation. His square jaw clamped shut swiftly, and when Quentin had finished he seemed suddenly to regain the air of masterful poise which had been stripped from him.

Seeing that transformation, Quentin knew that it boded trouble. Burlington was desperate; the fact that Quentin knew his secret meant exposure and disgrace for him, and social ruin at the least. For a moment he did not reply, while the amazed Osgood stood looking from one to the other in questioning conjecture. Quentin's abrupt change from defense to attack had set him all adrift.

"Let's get out of this," exclaimed Burlington, once more becoming aware of the crowd. His sudden calm was anything but reassuring. "Quentin, we can't settle this thing here in the street. Come along to your room at the hotel."

"Here, I guess I'll trot along," broke in Osgood, as Burlington took a step away. Quentin hesitated.

"This matter is between ourselves," he began, but the physician swung around with a savage oath.

"No, by—— Osgood, you come along with us and see this thing through. I fancy I'll have some use for you in a mighty short time."

And, catching his malevolent look, Quentin led the way to the hotel with foreboding in his heart. He could not fathom Burlington's intent, but he saw that the man was dangerous—terribly dangerous, and the more so for his forced calm.

CHAPTER XII.

There was a strained silence on all three of the men as they strode into the hotel lobby. Osgood went over to the desk, and Quentin followed him; while the detective was getting the envelope containing his personal belongings, Quentin made inquiries after the girl. He found that she had not returned, and doubted no longer that she was the pickpocket and had seized the chance to get away. Osgood looked up at him with a grin.

"Well, doc, I ain't got any hard feelings; I guess you're square, after all. But what's the row between you and the other doc?"

Quentin glanced across at Burlington, who was waiting by the elevator, and shrugged his shoulders. "Come along and see. If I'm not much mistaken, you'll be able to make an arrest yet, Osgood."

As they crossed back and rejoined Burlington, Quentin determined to force the issue squarely. What the points of the law were, he did not know; but he fancied that he could at least make a charge against the Long Beach man which would force the matter into the courts. There was no doubt that in some manner Mary Palmer had learned Burlington's secret, perhaps through the under channels used by crooks to obtain such knowledge; the thought that she was indeed a thief struck Quentin hard, but he knew now that the story was true enough.

With tense silence still prevailing among the three, they reached Quentin's room. Burlington dropped into a chair, smoothed back his graying hair in his most precise fashion, and faced Quentin.

"Now, sir," he said, breathing hard, but forcing himself into self-control, "you will kindly explain your veiled charges against me. I am bitterly surprised in you, Allan Quentin, and unless you make a satisfactory explanation, you shall suffer for it."

"I do not intend to explain," returned Quentin coldly. "That will come from you. I suppose you will admit that Enid Elsmere is your ward, and that owing to her affliction you have the use of her income?"

"Yes, you scoundrel!" burst out the other, quivering with rage. "I'll not only admit it, but I'll make you admit where you got that information!"

Quentin smiled.

"By your own words you confess that you have kept the matter quiet, Burlington. Your friends know nothing of her being in your house; you've deliberately attempted to keep her sequestered so that you might enjoy her money; you've lied to her about her condition, and since you told me this morning that the girl you were after had a brain tumor, a simple operation would have fixed her up. The courts may have given you control of her, Burlington, but I doubt whether you'll keep it long."

With that, he turned to Osgood, who was chewing an unlit cigar.

"I don't know what charge covers this case, Osgood, but I guess you understand enough of the situation. Now, I demand that you arrest Doctor Burlington there on my charge, and I will appear against him; the girl has escaped from his hands, and she'll be located quickly enough when this thing gets into the open."

Osgood reached down into his pocket and produced his handcuffs hesitantly.

"Well, doc, I ain't quite sure myself, but I'll take a chance——"

"Not so fast, there!" Burlington leaped to his feet quickly. "I intend to lay a charge here myself. Osgood, you saw Quentin with a presumably blind girl yesterday, whom he passed off as Miss Elsmere; since you've heard what has passed between us, you know that Miss Elsmere was my ward by legal right, and if I've thought fit to keep her secluded, that's my affair and not yours. I've been trying to cure her without an operation——"

"And you've been three years doing it," broke in Quentin hotly.

"Confound you, shut up!" roared Burlington. "Osgood, arrest that man! I charge him with conspiracy and attempted blackmail; he and that pretended charge of his, whom he passed off on you as Miss Elsmere and on me as Miss Palmer, are in this thing together. I charge them with kidnaping my ward and getting her out of the way, in a conspiracy to extort money from me. I'll fix you, you damned scoundrel!"

Quentin's mouth tightened into a set line as he faced the other, longing to plant his fist on the big jaw. Burlington acted out his part well, helped by the furious rage which consumed him; the young surgeon saw that Osgood was wavering, and perceived at once that Burlington had managed to turn the tables on him very neatly.

Also, he knew what the others did not—that Mary Palmer had slipped away, that she was the "dip" for whom Osgood was looking, and that when this complication came out the charge made by Burlington would be tremendously strengthened. On the whole, things looked pretty black, he thought.

The others did not know this, however, and there was still a chance to bluff his way through safely. Burlington's charge was also bluff, but with skill it could be turned into a thing of reality; Quentin alone knew how real it might be when the facts about Mary Palmer were brought to light.

"Look here, Osgood," he said, fighting for time, "Doctor Burlington has been going all over the island this morning hunting for Miss Elsmere——"

"Thought you said that skirt with you was the lady?" put in the detective bluntly.

"I did—but her real name was Mary Palmer. I knew that Burlington would be after his ward, who had escaped, and I merely wanted to lay a blind trail that might deceive him. In that way, the girl would have time to reach friends. Now, there's the situation. By his own words and actions, Burlington has proved that he's been attempting malpractice; I'll add that to my charges as well, if it'll do any good."

"You scoundrel!" flamed Burlington, taking a step toward Quentin, his fists waving threateningly. "You needn't try to get out of your scrape by laying charges against me! Officer, either arrest that fellow, or I'll have you broke!"

Osgood grinned slightly.

"I guess not, doc—it'll take more than a pair of you to break Bert Osgood.. One of you guys has to be arrested, I guess, but as far's I can see, the odds are even. Why don't you toss up a coin and settle it? The only thing I can see is to pull the both of you and let you scrap it out with the desk sergeant!"

Quentin laughed, as his sense of humor awoke to the occasion. Burlington, however, was only maddened. the more.

"Confound it, do I have to arrest him myself? I'll call in the officials here, unless you act at once! Get hold of his woman accomplice, and do it lively; if you refuse to arrest him, I'll take care of the scoundrel."

"That suits me," and Osgood rubbed his jaw with a reflective grin at Quentin. "That's a good idea, doc. Where's that lady pal of yours?"

Quentin gave up. Osgood's keen perception had pierced to the nub of things—which happened to be Mary Palmer—and there was no use putting off the inevitable any longer.

Had not Burlington interfered at this junction, Quentin would simply have placed the whole affair in the detective's hands, and let things take their course. But at Osgood's exclamation, Burlington hastily turned toward the door, with savage determination in his features.

"I'll attend to her myself!" he declared hotly. "You take care of Quentin, and I'll bring the woman here——"

With this, Quentin's cold restraint gave way. Deciding instantly that he would at least have the satisfaction of putting Burlington in his place, he darted forward and whirled in front of the door with a swift push that sent Burlington staggering back.

"That's enough from you!" he cried, his eyes flaming. "You're not going to bully any more women, Burlington—unless you do it inside State's prison."

The other leaned against the table a second, glaring and panting heavily. In that instant Quentin knew that he must subdue or go under; Burlington's powerful face expressed determination to silence him at whatever cost. The whole future of each man depended upon the outcome.

Yet in Burlington's face Quentin read a swift cunning that he could not fathom, a purpose which was hidden from him. He was soon to learn its import, however.

"Get away from that door, Quentin!" snapped the older man, stepping forward once more. "Bear witness that I'm only trying to get out of this room, Osgood——"

Goaded beyond endurance, Quentin wasted no more words. Burlington came at him. and, without hesitation, he drove out his fist; the blow caught the other on the cheek and sent him reeling, but Burlington attempted no return.

"Arrest him—for assault!" he gasped, clinging to a chair. Too late, Quentin saw the plan, but he gave Osgood no chance to intervene. He had played into his enemy's hand, but he determined to do it thoroughly while he was about it.

With a swift step forward, he sent his fist crashing into Burlington's mouth, and the larger man bent back across the table. He writhed away, but again Quentin's knuckles found him, this time for a clean blow under the ear. Burlington shot headfirst into the corner, and Quentin found the burly detective gripping his arms.

"Easy does it, doc—easy does it!" exclaimed Osgood firmly. Quentin looked him in the eye, half wrenched away, then the cold flame of anger died out of his face, and he laughed shortly.

"All right, Osgood. I'll not touch you or him, either. Let go!"

"You're under arrest, sir," said the other quietly, stepping back. "Now let's see what you did to the big doc. Say, you've got a great little kick in that right of yours! Look at him!"

Quentin looked down at Burlington, who was slowly gaining his feet, and noted with great satisfaction that the three blows he had landed would leave their marks for some time. The detective pulled up the fallen physician, and shoved him into a chair, but Burlington staggered up, still furious.

"By ——, put that man under arrest!" he foamed, beside himself with rage. "He's assaulted me——"

"I've got him under arrest, doc," said Osgood, forcing him back into the chair. "Now, you sit down and cool off a minute."

"I'm cool enough, my man," retorted Burlington. "You'd better get hold of the woman and arrest her also on my charge."

"You'd better not, Osgood," put in Quentin calmly.

The detective coolly disregarded him, and stepped to the wall telephone.

"What name does she go under here—what's her alias, doc?" he asked, turning toward Quentin. The latter gave up the struggle.

"Miss Elsmere."

While Osgood was communicating with the office, Quentin stared disgustedly at the floor. He had made a fine mess of things now, he reflected. He had virtually forced himself under arrest, the hand of circumstance had clutched about his neck, and Burlington would have little difficulty in making good his charge of conspiracy when the whole miserable story had been dragged into court.

After all, what had he on which to base his own charges? Nothing but the word of a woman he did not know, and who was herself a fugitive from justice, combined with some trifling circumstantial evidence which Burlington could easily explain away. Still, there would be court records of Burlington's guardianship, but unless the real Enid Elsmere was to be produced as a witness against him, Burlington would have an easy time squirming out of Quentin's charge—especially when the latter had been placed under arrest for assault, and might be facing a hatched-up conspiracy charge.

"Say," exclaimed Osgood, turning from the telephone with a black look, "I guess you done me out of pinching that dip after all, doc. She went out o' here this morning, about as blind as I am."

"What!" roared Burlington, leaping up. "Is she gone?"

"Gone is right, big doc." Osgood was far recovered from the influence of that twenty-dollar bill by this time, and showed it plainly. "But I got this guy, and I got him right now. Doc, slip out your wrists for the bracelets, and no fooling."

Quentin, beyond words, put out his hands as Osgood came up. There was a clink and a click, and the handcuffs were upon him. At this instant the telephone bell rang, and Osgood answered it.

"Sure!" he said quickly. "Send 'em up."

He hung up the receiver and turned with a grin.

"It's all right, doc," he said, addressing Burlington. "That there woman we're after just came in, and she'll be up here in a jiffy. We'll nab 'em both at once."

Quentin looked up, then dropped his head with a groan. The whole thing had been useless—Mary Palmer had returned, only to walk into a trap, and he was powerless to save her or himself from the toils that he saw fast closing about them both.

A moment later there was a knock at the door. Burlington started up, but the detective waved him back with a confident grin, and moved over so that he was in position to grip whoever entered.

"Come in!" he cried, and the door opened.

CHAPTER XIII.

"Yes'm, you're pinched," grinned Osgood, with his hand on the shoulder of Mary Palmer. She faced him, seemingly without surprise, and Quentin saw that she had given over all pretense of blindness.

"On a charge of conspiracy, young woman," thundered out Burlington impressively as he came down the room wagging his forefinger. "Officer, I shall appear before both of these persons——"

"I don't think you will, Burlington," came a voice from the doorway. And then silence fell suddenly, and Burlington stood as if paralyzed.

Looking at the doorway, Quentin saw there an elderly man of commanding presence, whose Southern goatee fairly bristled with indignation. One arm was about the shoulders of a girl—and Quentin emitted a gasp as he saw that she was clad in red, with black hair that flew over her shoulders.

"Come in, Uncle Jim," said Mary Palmer quietly. "This is Doctor Quentin, who seems to be once more under arrest!" And she flashed Quentin a bright smile. "Doctor, this is my uncle, Mr. Mathews. And this—is Enid Elsmere."

Burlington said no word, but collapsed into the chair behind him, his fingers clawing at the table, and his face suddenly gone to a mottled hue.

"And this," went on the girl, motioning toward the detective, "is the Mr. Osgood of whom I told you, uncle."

Quentin rose, smiling.

"Sorry I can't shake hands, Mr. Mathews," he said, and the tension was broken.

"Take those handcuffs off Doctor Quentin, Osgood!" ordered Mathews, putting Enid Elsmere behind him and advancing. The girl stood, weeping, her face in her hands. "I think you know me, sir?"

"Why—yes, Mr. Mathews," gasped the detective, with unexpected deference. "I didn't forget that murder case, sir——"

"Then do as I say!"

"Sorry, sir," and Osgood shook his head. "This gentleman assaulted the big doc over there, and I had to pinch him whether I wanted to or not."

Mathews whirled on the crumpled figure in the chair.

"Withdraw that charge, Burlington, and do it quickly!"

At the cold menace in his voice, Burlington shivered, gasped, and nodded at the detective. A moment later Quentin rubbed his wrists, and Osgood stood with the handcuffs dangling, looking from one to the other in perplexity.

"Arrest this man Burlington," went on Mathews, but before he could finish, the other sprang up with a choking cry:

"No—no, for God's sake, Mathews! Not that!"

"Sit down—shut up, you hound, or I'll thrash you myself!" exploded Mathews, and Burlington crumpled up again, utterly unnerved. "Now let's get this thing straight."

Mary Palmer had her arms about the blind girl, and as Quentin stepped over and glanced into the latter's face, he knew that here there was no deception. Then he looked at Mary Palmer—and found the violet eyes smiling into his.

"What does all this mean?" he asked slowly. At the question, Mathews turned to him and motioned Mary Palmer to speak. The girl laughed happily, glancing from Osgood back to Quentin, and addressing both at once in her rather confused explanation—which was perfectly clear to both, however.

"Why, my uncle—Mr. Mathews here—was to meet me in Los Angeles, on my way from Phoenix to visit him. I missed him and came on alone. At San Pedro I found poor Enid here, afraid to speak to any one, and when I asked her what the matter was she burst into tears and told me the whole story—just as I told it to you, Doctor Quentin. I did not know what to do, but the poor girl was helpless and in distress, and said she wanted to find my uncle, who would protect her. She was afraid that Doctor Burlington would come after her, so I found a policeman and asked him if he would take care of her.

"He happened to know my uncle by sight, and_had seen him that morning—yesterday, but now it seems a year ago! He promised to take care of Enid and to hand her over to my uncle when he came back after having missed me, and I went on the boat to go on to the island. Then I saw you, Mr. Osgood, and you looked at me so hard that—that it made me afraid, and—and——"

"And so you made up to me and played blind, eh?" laughed Quentin. Suddenly he understood the whole thing. Mathews had arrived at San Pedro on his way back, had been met by the policeman and the real Enid, and had hastened over to the island. That explained the message which had come for Mary Palmer, and why she had gone out. Upon meeting Mathews, she had brought him back—and what about the pickpocket? Quentin whirled on the detective, smiling.

"I guess you lose out on your lady dip prisoner, Osgood! Kind of bad on your reputation, isn't it?"

"Oh, I don't know," and the detective rubbed at his chin as he cast a glance at the crumpled figure in the chair. ""As near's I get you, Mr. Mathews, I'm to pinch the big doc over there, eh?"

Weeping unrestrainedly, the blind girl loosed her arms from around Mary Palmer and turned, with a little pleading gesture that was terribly pathetic.

"No," she cried, her voice choked with sobs. "Please, Mr. Mathews, please don't——"

"All right, little girl; all right," and Mathews gathered her in his arms for a moment, comforting her. Then, as he lifted his head and gazed across her streaming black hair, his voice bit into the crumpled figure.

"Burlington, get out of here! This guardianship shall be turned over to me by the courts, unless you do it of your own will inside of three days. Now—get out. and do it quick!"

The big man rose heavily. Despite his anger, despite the swift attempt to ruin him, which had so nearly succeeded, Quentin felt a thrill of pity as he looked on the man's ghastly face; Burlington appeared utterly crushed, and the terrific mental agony stamped in his features was too much for the younger man. Quentin took an impulsive step forward.

"I don't think any of us want much publicity out of this, Burlington. For the sake of your wife and Dolly, I'll see that the whole thing is kept quiet."

The other did not reply. With a pitiful effort at self-possession, he tried to recover his old pompous manner, failed dismally, took the silk hat handed him by the grinning Osgood, and the door slammed. Mathews looked over at Quentin with a twinkle in his eye.

"You seem confident of your ability to hush this thing up, young man!"

"I am," retorted Quentin, "provided that Osgood will keep quiet——"

"Oh, I'm satisfied," murmured the detective easily. "I'm used to keeping my head shut, doc. But you can't always tell about a lady——" And he glanced meaningly at Mary Palmer.

"No," she added merrily. "How do you propose to shut my mouth, Doctor Quentin?"

"Well," and Quentin smiled into her eyes, "I do know one very effective method of doing it; but I've only known you one day—and there are other folks around——"

"Don't mind me, doc," exclaimed Osgood hastily, and the door slammed again.

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