ill and Kendrick.

It must be half past by now. Yes--from far below in the valley came the
whistle of a train. Now--she was boarding it. She and the money.
Boarding it--for where? For what purpose? Again the train whistled.

"The siege," remarked Mr. Magee, "is more than half over, ladies and
gentlemen."

The professor of Comparative Literature approached him and took a chair
at his side.

"I want to talk with you, Mr. Magee," he said.

"A welcome diversion," assented Magee, his eyes still on the room.

"I have discussed matters with Miss Thornhill," said the professor in a
low voice. "She has convinced me that in this affair you have acted from
a wholly disinterested point of view. A mistaken idea of chivalry,
perhaps. The infatuation of the moment for a pretty face--a thing to
which all men with red blood in their veins are susceptible--a pleasant
thing that I would be the last to want banished from the world."

"Miss Thornhill," replied Billy Magee, "has sized up the situation
perfectly--except for one rather important detail. It is not the
infatuation of the moment, Professor. Say rather that of a lifetime."

"Ah, yes," the old man returned. "Youth--how sure it always is of that.
I do not deprecate the feeling. Once, long ago, I, too, had youth and
faith. We will not dwell on that, however. Miss Thornhill assures me
that Henry Bentley, the son of my friend John Bentley, esteems you
highly. She asserts that you are in every respect, as far as her
knowledge goes, an admirable young man. I feel sure that after calm
contemplation you will see that what you have done is very unfortunate.
The package of money which in a giddy moment you have given into a young
lady's keeping is much desired by the authorities as evidence against a
very corrupt political ring. I am certain that when you know all the
details you will be glad to return with me to Reuton and do all in your
power to help us regain possession of that package."

And now the town hall informed Mr. Magee that the hour was eleven. He
pictured a train flying like a black shadow through the white night. Was
she on it--safe?

"Professor Bolton," he said, "there couldn't possibly be any one
anywhere more eager than I to learn all the details of this affair--to
hear your real reason for coming to Baldpate Inn, and to have the
peroxide-blond incident properly classified and given its niche in
history. But let me tell you again my action of to-night was no mere