ed
the bare little room. Still he sat in his chair, staring straight ahead
into the gloom and thinking.

Then the door opened. Shifting his eyes he discovered a dim shadow in
the opening. Whoever it was stood motionless until a low, clear voice
asked sharply:

"Anybody home?"

He got up, then, and shuffled to a shelf, where he felt for a kerosene
lamp and lighted it.

"Come in, Nan," he said without turning around, as he stooped over the
lamp and adjusted the wick.

The yellow light showed a young woman standing in the doorway, a woman
of perhaps thirty-five. She was tall, erect, her features well formed,
her eyes bright and searching. Her walking-suit was neat and modish and
fitted well her graceful, rounded form. On her arm was a huge basket,
which she placed upon a chair as she advanced into the room and closed
the door behind her.

"So you've come back," remarked Old Swallowtail, standing before her
and regarding her critically.

"A self-evident fact, Dad," she answered lightly, removing her hat.
"Where's Ingua?"

"At a dinner party across the river."

"That's good. Is she well?"

"What do you care, Nan, whether she is well or not?"

"If she's at a dinner party I needn't worry. Forgive the foolish
question, Dad. Brennan promised to bring my suit case over in the
morning. I lugged the basket myself."

"What's in the basket?"

"Food. Unless you've changed your mode of living the cupboard's pretty
bare, and this is Saturday night. I can sleep on that heartbreaking
husk mattress with Ingua, but I'll be skinned if I eat your salt junk
and corn pone. Forewarned is forearmed; I brought my own grub."

As she spoke she hung her hat and coat on some pegs, turned the lamp a
little higher and then, pausing with hands on hips, she looked
inquisitively at her father.

"You seem pretty husky, for your age," she continued, with a hard
little laugh.

"You've been prospering, Nan."

"Yes," sitting in a chair and crossing her legs, "I've found my forte
at last. For three years, nearly, I've been employed by the Secret
Service Department at Washington."

"Ah."

"I've made good. My record as a woman sleuth is excellent. I make more
money in a week--when I'm working--than you do in a year. Unless--" She
paused abruptly and gave him a queer look.

"Unless it's true that you're coining money in a way that's not legal."

He stood motionless before her, reading her face. She returned his
scrutiny with interest.