tary-looking man, for I noticed his walk
as he got off; but he wore big spectacles,--blue or brown glass, I
should say,--and had a heavy beard."

"Which way did he go when he left the 'bus?"

"He walked northward along the road at the edge of the bluff, right up
towards the cottages on the upper level," was the answer.

Armitage thanked him for his courtesy, explained that he had left the
colonel only a short time before and that he was then expecting no
visitor, and if one had come it was perhaps necessary that he should be
hunted up and brought to the hotel. Then he left the porch and walked
hurriedly through the park towards its northernmost limit. There to his
left stood the broad roadway along which, nestling under shelter of the
bluff, was ranged the line of cottages, some two-storied, with balconies
and verandas, others low, single-storied affairs with a broad hall-way
in the middle of each and rooms on both north and south sides.
Farthermost north on the row, almost hidden in the trees, and nearest
the ravine, stood Aunt Grace's cottage, where were domiciled the
colonel's household. It was in the big bay-windowed north room that he
and the colonel had had their long conference earlier in the evening.
The south room, nearly opposite, was used as their parlor and
sitting-room. Aunt Grace and Miss Renwick slept in the little front
rooms north and south of the hall-way, and the lights in their rooms
were extinguished; so, too, was that in the parlor. All was darkness on
the south and east. All was silence and peace as Armitage approached;
but just as he reached the shadow of the stunted oak-tree growing in
front of the house his ears were startled by an agonized cry, a woman's
half-stifled shriek. He bounded up the steps, seized the knob of the
door and threw his weight against it. It was firmly bolted within. Loud
he thundered on the panels. "'Tis I,--Armitage!" he called. He heard the
quick patter of little feet; the bolt was slid, and he rushed in, almost
stumbling against a trembling, terror-stricken, yet welcoming
white-robed form,--Alice Renwick, barefooted, with her glorious wealth
of hair tumbling in dark luxuriance all down over the dainty
night-dress,--Alice Renwick, with pallid face and wild imploring eyes.

"What is wrong?" he asked, in haste.

"It's mother,--her room,--and it's locked, and she won't answer," was
the gasping reply.

Armitage sprang to the rear of the hall, leaned one second against