had kept her from risking greater dangers.

But Dorothy could not listen to anything against her nearest and dearest
friend. No stranger had a right to condemn her.

The train was slacking up as it steamed into the big, arched station. Here
Miss Brooks would go her way, while Dorothy would be left to think over
the unexpected happenings of the brief railroad journey.

There seemed to Dorothy something almost patronizing in the stranger's
manner as she bade her good-by. Perhaps she did pity her--but why? What
was wrong, or what might happen on this day's shopping venture?

"I really do believe I'm getting queer myself," mused the girl, trying
vainly to shake off her fears and suspicions. "Well, so many queer things
do manage to happen in a single holiday vacation I don't wonder that I
catch the germ; it must be infectious."

Dorothy's little fur toque fitted gracefully on her beautiful blonde head.
Her cheeks matched the poinsettia, or Christmas flower, and her eyes were
as blue as the sapphires in the jewel shops.

With some slight agitation she entered Boardman's. It was in this store
that the ring incident had occurred, and the thought of her experience
was not exactly pleasant to the sensitive girl.

"But I saw such pretty things in there," she insisted secretly. "I must go
back and get some of them."

Timidly she approached the jewelry counter. Surely the clerks, or Miss
Allen, at least, recognized her. The latter stepped directly up to the
place where Dorothy stood.

"Good-morning," began the clerk, smiling pleasantly. "What can I do for
you?"

Dorothy was hardly ready to make her purchases. She answered the greeting
and said so. Then Miss Allen leaned over the counter.

"I wanted to tell you that Miss Dearing, the woman detective, has been
discharged."

"Oh, has she?" asked Dorothy. "I'm sorry."

"Well, you needn't be," Miss Allen assured her. "She didn't much care how
you fared."

"But she only made a mistake," pleaded Dorothy.

"Perhaps," and Miss Allen shrugged her shoulders; "but she took the
trouble to come to me and ask your address."

"My address!"

"Yes; wanted it awfully bad, too. I wouldn't take any customer's address
off a tag; not for all the detectives in the house. But I happen to know
some one else did."

"But what did she want my address for?" asked Dorothy as quietly as her
voice could speak in spite of her agitation.

"Don't know," replied the clerk, indicating she might