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Discovering Diverse Content Through
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 With a sigh he commenced to pull up the pegs that fastened down his
tent.

It was soon bundled into the canoe together with his grub-box, his valise,
and the odds and ends of his baggage.

"Get in," he said. "I'll paddle you back to the wharf."

Pen sat down in the bottom of the canoe while he perched on the stern
seat wielding the paddle with the easy grace of long custom. She watched
him through her lashes. The moon was behind him, silhouetting his strong
frame and making a sort of aureole about his bare head.

The tide was high and the water had risen to within three feet of the floor
of the wharf. Pen climbed out upon it.

"Well, is this good-by?" he said dolefully,

"No," said Pen breathlessly. Her instinct told her there was another
struggle of wills ahead. "You're not going. I'm going to keep you here."

"What!" he cried. "Oh, if you knew how you tempted me!"

"Tempt you!" she said crossly. "This is no time for sentiment!"

"I couldn't let you," he said firmly.

"Where could you go?" she demanded.

"I'll manage to keep out of sight."

"There is no place you could go!" she insisted. "The Sun-paper is read on
the remotest creeks. Do you realize what a hue and cry will be raised in the
morning? Fifty boats will be out searching the river, the bay, the creeks.
How could you hope to escape? Where would you get food and fresh
water?"

"I'll find a way," he said stubbornly. "I'm going back to New York."
 "Stay here!" she pleaded.

"I couldn't! What would you think of a man who unloaded all his
troubles on a woman like that?"

"What would I think of him?" Pen was on her knees at the edge of the
wharf reaching down for his things. The moonlight was in her face. She
suddenly smiled at him in an oddly tender, an indulgent sort of way. "Don't
be silly!" she said brusquely. "Hand me up that valise."

The advantage was all with her now. His man's pride was hardly strong
enough to tear him away from her. He passed up the valise.

"I'll find some way to square the account," he grumbled.

Pen smiled still.

"What will we do with the canoe?" he asked, when their cargo was
unloaded on the wharf.

"Sink it in deep water at the end of the wharf," she said.

"Good! I'll empty my clothes out and fill the valise with stones."

"Such a good valise," objected the prudent Pen. "Couldn't you just load
the stones in the canoe?"

"No. She'd roll them out and come to the top. I can tie the valise to a
thwart."

How Pen loved to have him talk to her offhand as to another man!

While he was attending to the canoe Pen busied herself dividing his
belongings into two equal lots to carry up the hill. Her eyes ever glancing in
the direction of the Island finally saw a tiny red and a green eye turn on
them from afar.

"They've started back," she said quietly. "We'll have to carry everything
in one trip."
 "Oh, throw everything overboard that will sink."

"You'll need it."

"What are you going to do with me?"

"Hide you in the woods."

Presently the put-put of the noisy little boat came to them across the
water.

"No time to lose!"

When Counsell came to her he coolly appropriated half her load. They
wasted a good minute quarreling over it. Pen was not accustomed to having
her will opposed by a man. Her undisputed sway at Broome's Point had
made her a little too autocratic perhaps. A hot little flame of anger shot up
in her breast. When she became angry Counsell laughed delightedly. This
was outrageous. Nevertheless she liked it. She found a curious pleasure in
giving in to him, and meekly accepted what he said she might carry. "What
is happening to me?" she asked herself for the dozenth time that day.

They plodded up the hill under their loads, Pen in advance. Their
shadows marched before them. The whole earth was held in a spell of
moonlight and the perfume of the wild grape. It sharpened their senses
intolerably. Life seemed almost too much to be borne. Neither could speak.
Once Counsell bending under the weight of his pack, mutely put his hand
forward and groped for hers.

"Don't! Don't!" she said painfully.

"Oh, Pen!" he murmured.

As they progressed along the top of the bank the motor-boat was
completing her journey below them. They could glimpse the boat through
the interstices of the bushes, but those in the boat could not have seen them.

"We must hurry," said Pen. "They must see already that your tent is
gone."
 Reaching the tenant cottage outside the grounds Pen said: "We could
save time by cutting across here, but we'd leave a wide open track through
the wet weeds. We'll have to go around."

They followed the road to the broken gate, and making the turn, kept
along outside the fence until they got well in the rear of the cottage. Here
the faintly marked path worn by Pen crossed the road, and they turned into
it. The motor-boat had come to her moorings. Breaking into a sort of
staggering run under their burdens they were soon received into the woods.

"I must get back to the house before they do," Pen panted.

The glade with its tiny temple presented a scene of unearthly beauty. A
shaft of moonlight was silvering the pale dome. The deep bowl below the
bank was full to the brim of moonlight.

A gasp of astonishment escaped Counsell. "What's this?"

"Afraid of ghosts?" asked Pen.

"Try me!" he laughed.

They cast their burdens on the ground. There was no time for lengthy
explanations or leave-takings.

"Listen!" said Pen. "Pitch your tent among the bushes at the back of the
tomb."

"I'll rig it from the branches," he said. "Won't drive stakes."

"Good! Keep back from the edge of the bank during the day. A small
boat might come into the pond, looking for you. But no native will come
near this spot. It's not safe to build a fire. What have you to eat?"

"Plenty of bread, cooked meat, eggs."

"When I come again I'll bring more. And a little oil stove. The water in
the pond is not fit to drink, but you'll find a spring at the foot of the bank.
Watch well before you show yourself in the open."
 "When will you come again?" he asked urgently.

"When it is safe ... To-morrow night I think."

"The time will pass slowly until then," he said simply. He picked up her
hand and pressed it hard to his cheek.

Pen snatched away her hand and fled—fled from she knew not what.
Trying to fly from the shattering commotion in her breast perhaps, which of
course she carried with her.

As she ducked through her own particular gap in the fence she could
quite clearly hear the two men, coming up the road from the beach talking
together in tones of chagrin. She sped to the house and upstairs to her room.
Aunt Maria was asleep in a chair. Pen awakened her with a violent shake,
and commenced to undress.

"Quick! my night-dress!" she cried. "Throw these wet things into a

closet. Remember to say you put me to bed as soon as Dad went out and we
both fell asleep!"

"Bless God, honey! Bless God!" repeated Aunt Maria. Nevertheless she
bestirred herself.

When the two men knocked on the door a sleepy voice bade them enter.
All was peace within the room. Aunt Maria struggled to her feet assiduously
knuckling her eyes; Pen lay in bed with the bedclothes to her chin, her eyes
languourous as if but just opened.

"You see," said Doctor Hance. "It is just as I told you. Everything is all
right."

Pendleton's feelings were mixed. He was relieved, and as soon as he was

relieved he remembered his suspicions. In order to divert attention from
Aunt Maria whose delineation of sleepiness was rather melodramatic, Pen
smiled at her father and murmured that she felt better.
 He looked at her queerly. He could no longer contain his chagrin. "He's
gone!" he said.

Pen, aware that the doctor was keenly observing her, made her eyes
wide. "Gone?" she echoed. "Where?"

"Pushed off in his canoe somewhere."

"We'll get him in the morning," the doctor added, watching her still. "He
can't get far."

Pen made her face an indifferent blank.

Pendleton was sent out of the room while the doctor made his
examination. Hance was a frowsy old man with a rough tongue and a
compassionate irascible eye. Everybody quarreled with him and depended
on him as on a tower. He had no illusions left about mankind, but he gave
all his strength to tending them. Pen dreaded being left alone with him.
However he said no more about the escaped canoeist. From the character of
his grunts as he sounded her she knew she had not deceived him at all.
When the door closed behind him she flew to it to hear what he would say
to her father.

Pendleton was just outside the door. "Well?" he asked anxiously.

"She's all right," was the gruff reply. "A bit of a shock maybe. No
organic trouble."

"Hum," said Pendleton, and his thoughts immediately flew off to the
other matter. "That engine of mine makes such a confounded racket! He
must have heard me start off and guessed that I was on to him and had gone
for help."

"I suppose so," said Dr. Hance with a grim chuckle.

They passed downstairs.

Pen thought with a thankful heart: "He's not going to give me away!
Blessed old man!"
 CHAPTER III

AN IRRUPTION FROM THE WORLD

At all times Pen was an early riser but next morning she was up with the
sun. While she was dressing, her collie Dougall set up a great barking in the
back yard. At night he was kept fastened in his kennel there to keep watch
that no fox or 'possum came after the poultry. Pen knew that it could not be
one of those marauders now because it was broad day and there was no
alarm amongst the chickens. So she paid no attention. Doug, like the best of
dogs, sometimes raised a false alarm.

Night was too far away to wait for. Secure in the feeling of their solitude
Pen planned to carry Don Counsell what he needed and get back to the
house before anyone stirred. Her father arose like clockwork at six and Aunt
Maria turned up in the kitchen yawning about that hour, or later. It was a
queer thing to visit a man at five o'clock in the morning—but for humanity's
sake! He would be asleep in his tent and would never know she had been
there until he awoke and found what she had left. Pen's heart gave a queer
little jump at the thought of being able to look at him sleeping without any
necessity of veiling her eyes.

She billowed softly down the great stairway—it was a treat to stand at
the bottom and see Pen come down with her toes pointing—and scampered
into the pantry. From a high shelf she got down an old primus stove which
had not been used in a long time, and cleaned it and filled it with oil. Then
she made up a basket of bread, butter, cream, eggs, strawberries, etc., and
started out of the house.

Some instinct of caution impelled her to put her things down on a chest
in the hall, while she gave a preliminary peep out of doors. She was greatly
taken aback to discover another young gentleman of the world sitting on the
porch playing with one of her innumerable kittens. He sprang up, and
snatching off his cap, bade her good morning.

Pen could only stare and stammer. "Why ... who ... how." Finally she
managed to blurt out: "Where did you come from?"

His air was ingratiating—a shade too ingratiating perhaps. "Rowed over
from the Island," he explained. "I arrived there about three and had a snooze
on the seat of my car. As soon as it began to get light I hunted about until I
found a skiff with oars in it, and came on over. I suppose there'll be a row
when the owner finds it gone, but I'll square myself with him later. I knew
your house by the cupola."

Pen lacked a key to all this. She looked her further questions.

"I'm on the —— newspaper," he went on cheerfully. "Claude Banner is

my name. Last night somebody telephoned from the Island that Don
Counsell had been here all day yesterday, so I got a car at once and started.
Lost my way a couple of times. I aimed to come here direct by road, but the
hills in the woods were washed so badly I had to turn around and go to the
Island."

"Mr. Counsell has gone," said Pen. "You have had your journey for
nothing."

"Not at all!" he said with his assured and agreeable smile. "It's your story
that I came after."

Pen looked at him with a kind of horror. This possibility had not
occurred to her. She withdrew into herself. "I have no story to tell," she said
coldly.

He was not at all abashed. "My paper was the only one got the tip last
night, and I've got to get my story over the phone in time for the evening
edition. You have a phone here I see. The wires were the first things I
looked for. It'll be a rare scoop. There'll be a mob down later."
 Pen shivered inwardly and looked down. She was much confused, things
were so different from what one imagined. Only last night she had said to
herself: "If I could get hold of the men who write for newspapers I'd make
them be fair to Don." (She already called him Don in her thoughts.) Well,
here was her chance, but the brash young Danner antagonized her so she
could scarcely be civil to him. She struggled with her feelings.

"You'll have to excuse me. I don't consider that the public has any
interest in me ... or any right to intrude upon my privacy! I hate to read that
sort of story in the newspapers ... But of course that's not your fault ... I'm
willing to answer any proper questions, but I must not be quoted. There
must be no descriptions of me or of my home!"

The young man's face fell. "But I've got to tell my story," he protested.
"It'll be the scoop of the year. If I don't tell all about you the others will. I
can appreciate your feelings, but the others are hard-boiled guys I assure
you. But you'll like what I write about you when you see it. Everybody
does."

Pen smiled wryly. "I don't know ... You'll have breakfast with us?"

"Oh no!" he said.

"You must. There's no place else for you to go. And you've been up all
night."

He saw that she did not like him, and he appreciated her invincible
hospitality. "Say, I wish I wasn't here on a story!" he said impulsively.

"So do I," said Pen. "I must ask you to wait here until I get things started
in the house."

"But my story?"

"I'll be back shortly."

Pen went in and put away the things in her basket with a heavy heart. No
chance now of seeing Don until night. All day he would be watching for
her. In the course of time Aunt Maria turned up and breakfast was set in
train.

The "interview" that followed was hardly a success. So few of Danner's

questions came under the head of what Pen called "proper" questions. And
the way he kept sizing her up out of the corners of his eyes made her stiffer
and stiffer. She wished not to be stiff; she wished to win Danner to Don's
side. But she soon discovered that it was hopeless; that the young reporter's
sole business was to cater to the public taste. The sly look that appeared in
Danner's eyes when she casually expressed a doubt of Don's guilt soon put
her off that line. Meanwhile she was suffering horribly at the thought of
having their poverty exposed in the newspapers. Obviously Banner missed
nothing; the rotting porch, the patched screens, that ridiculous barricade
around her sprouting dahlias.

Pendleton Broome presently came downstairs and Danner got along

much better with him. The reporter knew just how to set up the little man in
his own esteem. Pendleton admired the newspapers and his greatest
pleasure was to see his name in print. So far he had only won to the
correspondence columns. Pendleton encouraged, adopted a throaty voice
and a magisterial air that caused poor Pen to squirm afresh, thinking of the
fun the clever young man could have with her father.

During breakfast Pen was obliged to hear the story of the previous day's
happenings told and retold with much irrelevant detail. Danner exerted
himself to please her; he was not a bad sort of fellow; but Pen thinking of
the other breakfasting on cold victuals and water, resented every swallow of
hot coffee that he took.

"When I first read the story in the paper," thus Pendleton, "the fellow
was still in the house. He was talking to my daughter in the drawing-room
—a very gentlemanly, attractive sort of fellow you understand..."

"So I understand," said Danner, glancing sidelong at Pen.

"But there was something in his eye...!"

 Pen could not stand for this. "Why, father," she protested with as good-
natured and offhand a smile as she could muster, "be fair! You never
discovered that 'something' until you read the paper."

"You are wrong, my dear. From the first I was aware of a curious
prejudice against him. But of course I could not let it show while he was
our guest."

Pen smiling at whatever cost, let it go.

"Where was I?" asked Pendleton.

Danner prompted: "He was in the drawing-room."

"Oh yes! For the moment I was at a loss. Frightfully awkward situation.
By the time I had resolved on a course of action he had left the house
without bidding me good-night!"

"Without bidding you good-night!" echoed Danner.

"Without bidding me good-night!"

Danner turned to Pen. "Why do you suppose he didn't say good-night to

your father?"

"I don't know," said Pen carelessly. "I suppose he forgot."

"Perhaps he had a glimpse of the newspaper?"

"He couldn't see my father from where he was."

"Did he seem agitated?"

"Not in the least."

"What did you do then?" Danner asked Pendleton.

"My first plan was to get the lighthouse keeper to help me apprehend the
fellow. But as I was setting out from the house my daughter had a sudden
attack..."

Danner had the grace not to look at Pen, but she was aware of his sharp
spring to attention.

"And as I was obliged to go to the Island for the doctor I decided to let
him help me. But when we got back the fellow had struck his tent and
pushed off."

"That taken in connection with his failure to bid you good-night..."

suggested Danner.

"Exactly!" said Pendleton.

Pen felt she would scream if she were obliged to listen to any more of
this. Making believe to discover an errand in the kitchen, she left the room.

When she came back Danner asked with hypocritical solicitude: "Are
you quite well again this morning?"

"Perfectly," said Pen.

Useless to expect anything from Danner. Though he was clearly sensible

to Pen's charm, the story was everything to him, and his nostrils were
quivering now on the scent of a story much more dramatic than he had
expected.

Pendleton went on: "Doctor Hance is coming back in a motor-boat this

morning, and we will search the bay shore.... We have an idea of the
direction he took," he added mysteriously.

"Wish you luck," said Danner. "We had a message from New York last
night that a reward of five thousand dollars had been offered for Counsell's
capture."

He looked at Pen as he said it. She kept her eyes down, and rested her
hands on the edge of the table that they might not shake.
 "What!" cried Pendleton. "Well! ... that lets me out then. No business for
a gentleman, of course."

Pen's sore heart warmed gratefully towards her father.

"Who offers the reward?" Pen asked quietly. (Poor Pen! She suspected
that her parade of indifference would never deceive the sharp-eyed reporter.
What she ought to have shown was a frank, natural interest in the matter.
But that was beyond her powers of dissimulation.)

"Ernest Riever, the well-known millionaire," said Danner. "An intimate

friend of the murdered man, I believe."

When they finished breakfast several motor-boats were seen coming

across from the Island. Danner made haste to get his story over the phone.
This was an ordeal for Pen. The connection was bad, and Danner had to
shout his "human interest" stuff at the top of his lungs. Pen went to her
room and shut the door, and buried her head in the pillows. Still she could
hear the horrible sentences that outraged every feeling of privacy she had.
After that she gave up all pretense of trying to be agreeable to Danner.

The first comers from the Island were volunteer searchers. News of the
reward had been telephoned down from Baltimore. They came to Broome's
Point with the instinct of picking up the trail where it started, forgetting that
water holds no tracks. One spot around the shores was as good as another to
begin the search. Dr. Hance was not among them. Possibly the reward had
put him off too. Others who had not the initiative to institute a search,
merely came to hang around and stare and ask foolish questions. A little
later Captain Spinney brought over a whole party of reporters from
Washington, Baltimore and Philadelphia. These gentlemen undertook to
interview Pen in a body. She liked them less than young Danner. She
referred them to her father, and fled to her room.

Pendleton, enthroned on the porch, the center of interest for the crowd,
was in his element. He graciously accepted the reporters' excellent cigars,
and little by little, without realizing it, embroidered on his tale. In an
expansive moment he asked them to lunch en masse, and then in terror went
to Pen to tell her what he had done.
 She merely nodded. "There's enough for one meal. But we'll run short at
supper."

She gave the necessary orders for the meal, but declined to appear
herself. Not until she knew the men were all gathered around the table did
she venture to come down the back stairs and see to some of the things that
had been left undone that distracted morning. Then she shut herself up
again.

During the afternoon an automobile with a broken spring managed to

win through by the road. It brought a load of New York reporters. These in
asking their way had spread the news along the Neck, and the poor whites
who lived there hidden in the woods began to straggle in in ox-carts, to
share in the excitement.

Reporters made themselves at home all over the lower floor of the big
house, even in the kitchen where they chaffed Aunt Maria and questioned
her adroitly. This was a source of great uneasiness to Pen. She was divided
between anxiety and indignation. There was something old English in Pen.
Thus to have her castle invaded was the greatest outrage she could conceive
of. But what could she do? She experienced a sickening loss of identity.

She could not stay in her room all the time. Whenever she went
downstairs it was to be waylaid by one or half a dozen inquisitors who
according to their natures tried to cajole her or to entrap her into answering
their questions. Meanwhile the natives pressed their faces against the
windows and stared in. Finally Pen sought her father.

"How long have I got to submit to this?" she demanded.

"To what, my dear?" he asked, sparring for time.

"To having my house overrun by strangers!"

"Patience, my child. They're not doing any real harm."

"But our house, our house? Have we no rights in it?"

 "I know, I know. But what can I do?"

"Request them to leave. They can at least wait outside the fence."

"But my dear!" said Pendleton aghast. "We've got to stand in well with
the Press. Suppose they were to give the impression in their stories that we
were concealing this fellow!" This was accompanied by his furtive glance
of suspicion.

Pen thought in dismay: "One of them has put that idea into his head!"
She said no more, but marched indignantly back to her room.

Worse trials were in store for her. About five, from her window she saw
a new party of men come in by the drive. Even at the distance she could see
that they differed subtly from the reporters, stupider looking men who
carried themselves with the arrogance of conscious rectitude. After awhile
Aunt Maria came to the door of her room, the whites of her eyes showing.

"Miss Penny, honey," she gasped. "Yo' Paw say, please to come
downstairs."

"What's the matter, Aunt Maria?"

"Detecatifs, honey!" said Aunt Maria in an awe-struck whisper.

"Detecatifs fum Noo Yawk!"

Without bestirring herself at all, Pen changed her dress and went slowly
downstairs. As soon as she entered the drawing-room she regretted her
dilatoriness, for they already had Aunt Maria on the carpet, and the old
negress was sweating in agitation. Pen instantly conceived a violent dislike
of her inquisitor. He was a bull-necked, ageing man with pendulous cheeks
and dull, irascible blue eyes. He lolled in a chair by the window, with an
arm over the back, and his fingers interlaced. He nodded to Pen and curtly
requested her to be seated.

Pen flared up inwardly. ("Asking me to sit down in my own house!") In

order to show that she was still mistress there, she moved calmly about the
room, setting things in order. They had presumed to shove her center table
over to the fireplace to give themselves room. She shoved it back. The chief
with an annoyed glance resumed his questioning of the scared negress.

The room was full of people. There were four lesser officers grouped
around the chief's chair. The reporters were gathered in a group under the
arch that led to the back drawing-room. Pen soon learned that there was an
excellent working agreement between these two parties, the reporters
dependent on the detectives for news, and the detectives dependent on the
reporters for public recognition of their efforts. Over by the other front
window sat Pendleton, leaning back in an old swivel chair, trying to appear
at his ease.

Aunt Maria was saying: "Soon as Mist' Pendleton go out Ah undress

Miss Penny and put her in baid. She done drap right off lak a kitten."

"Then what did you do?" the man asked in the rasping voice inquisitors
affect.

"Me? Ah didn't do nuffin, suh. Ah jes sot."

"Did you go to sleep too?"

"Ah reckon Ah did."

"How long did you sleep?"

"'Deed I caint tell. I aint know nuffin else till Miss Penny wake me up
again."

"So she woke you up?"

Aunt Maria perceived that she had made a slip. "Yessuh! Yessuh!" she
stammered. "Miss Penny done want a drink of watah."

"How did she wake you?"

Again Aunt Maria's tongue slipped. "She done shook mah ahm."

"So she was out of bed?"

 "No suh! No suh!" cried Aunt Maria in a panic. "I misrecollect that. She
jes hollered at me."

It would have been patent to a child that Aunt Maria was lying. The
scene was intolerable to Pen's pride.

"Aunt Maria, tell the truth," she said sharply.

The poor old negress turned a face of complete dismay to her mistress.
What was she to make of this? In her confusion she was unable to get
anything else out.

To Pen the chief detective said harshly: "Please be silent, Miss. You will
have a chance to tell your story in a minute."

Pen's eyes blazed. "You are not to suppose that you are entrapping me or
my servant!" she said hotly. "I have no objection to your knowing that I
went down to the beach last night and warned Mr. Counsell that he was
liable to arrest!"

It had the effect of a bombshell there in the room. For a second all the
men stared at Pen open-mouthed. Then of one accord the reporters made a
rush out into the hall where the telephone was. He who first laid hand on it
was allowed to get his call in first. Pen was too angry now to be terrified by
further publicity. Their precipitancy merely disgusted her. Was there no
such thing as human dignity?

Pendleton Broome's swivel chair had come forward with a snap. He

looked clownish. He was the only one really surprised by Pen's disclosure.
What astonished the others was that she should have admitted it. For a
fleeting instant Pen felt sorry for the little man, but she had too much on her
mind for the feeling to linger. The detective was not surprised, but he had
counted on dragging out the admission, and it annoyed him excessively to
have it flung in his face. He affected to be consulting with his subordinates
while he recovered himself.

"You had better question me," Pen said. "Aunt Maria knows nothing
more."
 "Allow me to be the judge of that," he said sarcastically.

Pen shrugged. He went on questioning the negress, but she was reduced
to a gibbering state. In the end he had to let her go. Aunt Maria hung in the
hall, just around the corner of the door, listening with stretched ears. The
reporters straggled back into the room.

Pen and the detective faced each other. The man cleared his throat and
settled his collar, gave attention to his finger nails, and glanced carelessly
out of the window—all time-honored devices to break up the composure of
one's opponent. Pen merely looked at him. Suddenly he rasped at her:

"So you assisted this murderer to escape?"

"Don't speak to me like that," said Pen quietly, with heightened color.
"He is not yet proved a murderer." Meanwhile her inner voice was saying
despairingly: "You should not antagonize him! You should not antagonize
him!" But it was impossible for her to act otherwise towards this great,
stupid bully.

He smiled disagreeably; nevertheless he modified his tone. "What did

you do it for?" he asked.

"He had had dinner and supper with us," said Pen. "I differed with my
father as to its being our duty to inform against him."

"Where did he go from here?"

"I don't know."

"What! It was a bright moonlight night. Didn't you have interest enough
to watch which way he went after having warned him?"

"He paddled straight out from the shore. I didn't wait. The motor-boat
was coming back."

"Why didn't they see your tracks in the sand?"

"I walked at the edge of the water."

 "What did you want to deceive your father for?"

"I beg your pardon," said Pen with her chin up. "That is between my
father and me."

The detective abandoned this line of questioning. "Didn't Counsell tell

you where he was going?" he demanded.

"No."

"Didn't you talk down on the beach?"

"Certainly."

"What about?"

"I had to tell him what was in the newspaper."

"Didn't he know already?"

"He did not."

The detective looked around at his subordinates with a leer, and they all
laughed. Instead of disconcerting Pen it had the effect of stiffening her. She
looked at one after another so steadily that their eyes suddenly found
business elsewhere.

The chief said suddenly with the air of one springing a disagreeable
surprise: "Had you ever seen Counsell before yesterday?"

"Never," said Pen.

"Are you sure of that?"

Pen merely looked at him.

"Answer my question, please!"

"I have already answered it."

 "Do you expect me to believe that you undertook to save a total stranger
from the law?"

"I have stated the facts."

The detective sprang to his feet and shook a violent forefinger at Pen—
the old trick of the inquisitor. "You have seen this man before!"

"Don't shout at me," said Pen coolly. "I am not a criminal."

"As to that we'll see," he said ominously. "Did you ever hear of
accessory after the fact."

"Well, if I am a criminal," said Pen, "I don't have to testify against

myself."

"Don't argue with me if you please," he said. "Just answer my

questions."

"Answer me a question if you please," said Pen clearly.

He stared. He was not accustomed to having the tables turned like this.

Before he could explode Pen asked her question: "You are from New
York, aren't you?"

"What of it?"

"What are your rights in Maryland?"

His face turned ugly. "You'll see!" He addressed one of his men.
"Keesing, you have heard this young woman's admissions. There's a justice
of the peace over on the Island. Go to him and make the necessary affidavit
to secure a warrant for her arrest."

The man left the room. Pen believed this to be a bluff, and scornfully
smiled. Her father was impressed though. He wilted down in his chair, and
put out an imploring hand towards his daughter. He was incapable of
speaking.
 "Do you want anything else of me?" Pen coolly asked her questioner.

Seeing that his threat had failed of effect, the detective judged it prudent
not to prolong this scene. "That is all for the present," he said loftily. "You
will please not leave the house."

"Thank you," said Pen, "but until I am arrested I shall do just what I am
accustomed to do."

She left the room with her head up and went on up the stairs. She was
not at all pleased with herself though. That inner voice said remorselessly:
"You have only angered him without doing Don any good." To be sure, she
had seen sympathy in the eyes of some of the reporters, but they could not
say anything of course that might endanger their working agreement with
the detectives. At the thought of danger to herself Pen smiled. She was in
the frame of mind that welcomes persecution. But her heart was full of
terror for Don. She had not foreseen that the place would be overrun like
this. He was so near! And the detective's order to remain in the house
suggested that they suspected he might still be on the place.

On her knees at her front window she watched the men leave the house
in a body. Some shrubbery cut off her view of the gate, and she could not
tell which way they turned after passing through it. Fortunately but an hour
or two of daylight remained.

CHAPTER IV

BESIDE THE LITTLE TEMPLE

When Pen was sure that the house was emptied of strangers she went
downstairs to see about the belated supper. She was mad with anxiety to
know what was happening outside, but whatever comes, people must eat.
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