r Blenmont?" says I.

"That's the one," says Sadie.

"Why she's qualified for an old ladies' home," says I. "You don't mean
to say she's got kittenish at her age."

"There's no age limit to that kind of foolishness," says Sadie, "and
this looks like a serious attack. We've got to stop it, though, for I
promised Pinckney I'd stand guard until he came back from Newport."

I hadn't seen the old girl myself, but I knew her record, and now I got
it revised to date. She'd hooked two husbands in her time, but neither
of 'em had lasted long. Then she gave it up for a spell and it wa'n't
until she was sixty-five that she begins to wear rainbow clothes again,
and caper around like one of the squab octet. Lately she'd begun to
show signs of wantin' to sit in a shady corner with a man.

Pinckney had discouraged a bald-headed minister, warned off an old
bachelor, and dropped strong hints to a couple of widowers that took to
callin' frequent for afternoon tea. Then a new one had showed up.

"He's a sticker, too," says Sadie. "I don't know where Aunt Tillie found
him, but Pinckney says he's been coming out from the city every other
day for a couple of weeks. She's been meeting him at the station and
taking him for drives. She says he's some sort of an East Indian priest,
and that he's giving her lessons in a new faith cure that she's taking
up. To-day, though, after she'd gone off, the housekeeper found that her
trunk had been smuggled to the station. Then a note was picked up in her
room. It said something about meeting her at the church of St.
Paul's-in-the-Wood, at four-thirty, and was signed, 'Your darling
Mulli.' Oh, dear, it's almost half-past now! Can't you go any faster,
Francois?"

I thought he couldn't, but he did. He jammed the speed lever up another
notch, and in a minute more we were hittin' only the high places. We
caromed against them red-leather cushions like a couple of pebbles in a
bottle, and it was a case of holdin' on and hoping the thing would stay
right side up. I hadn't worked up much enthusiasm about gettin' to St.
Paul's-in-the-Wood before, but I did then, all right. Never was so glad
to see a church loom up as I was that one.

"That's her carriage at the chapel door," says Sadie. "Shorty, we must
stop this thing."

"It's out of my line," says I, "but I'll help all I can."

We made a break for the front door and butted right in, just as though
they'd sent us cards. It wasn't very light inside, but