ad at the waiter who came
for the instrument, then called an uptown number. A woman's voice
answered--bright, alert, faintly tinged with a soft brogue.

"Miss Doyle speaking."

"Hello, Kitty! Did you pack that bag? Good. I want you to meet the
train from Hambleton arriving four-thirty. Janet Mackay is on it. You
can't miss her--listen!" He rattled off Merrill's description of the
woman's dress. "Shadow her, Kitty; follow her to Kamchatka if you have
to. Keep your eyes and ears open. Use your own judgment in regard to
scraping up an acquaintance if an opportunity offers. She's dour, and
probably a bit suspicious. I can give you one useful tip about
her--she talks in her sleep. _Huh_! That will be all from you, Miss
Doyle; it doesn't matter how I know. Wire me any news as you get it to
Hambleton. Have you plenty of money?"

"Couple of hundred, I'll telegraph if I need more."

"Right. Whatever happens, Kitty--stay with her!"

"Like a Siamese twin," the bright voice assured him. "Is there
anything special I'm to try and find out?"

"Well, you know the nature of this case." Creighton hesitated. "A
confession would be very useful--if you could get it!"

"Crumbs!" gasped Miss Doyle. "Did _she_ do it?"

"I have no definite proof--yet. There's just enough evidence to
warrant our taking a warm interest in her. This sudden departure from
Hambleton may be--flight!"

"Oh-ho. And she chose her time while you were here, thus avoiding any
embarrassing farewell scene with you! Quite so. Leave her to me, Mr.
Creighton. I'll wire you from Liverpool or Buenos Aires or Paris--"

"Or Hoboken or Harlem!" he corrected her.

"Much more likely."

He sent away the telephone, ordered fresh coffee, lighted a cigarette
and glanced at his watch. Two courses were open to him. He could put
in the afternoon at the office and thereby clear up a lot of stuff for
Rose and Jimmy, returning late to Hambleton as he had planned, or he
could catch a train that would get him there just in time for dinner.
Um.

He caught the train that was to get him there just in time for dinner.
Bates, meeting him in the hall and relieving him of his bag, dashed his
hopes forthwith.

"I'm afraid we weren't expecting you, sir," said the butler
apologetically. "Miss Ocky is dining at Mrs. Bolt's. I'll have
something ready for you in about half-an-hour, sir. Will that be all
right, sir?"

"Fine, Bates; thank you."

"A judgment