figure was
Janet and sought to restrain him lest he catch her? Obvious! And he
had ascribed that action to timidity or even--blatant ass!--to fear for
his safety. Fear! As if October Copley knew the meaning of the word
either for herself or any one else! "Afraid for his safety?" His
cheeks were red as he spared a mirthless laugh for an egotistical idiot.

"Dinner is served, sir," announced Bates, appearing in his silent
fashion around the corner of the house. "It is not very elaborate, I'm
afraid, sir."

"It will be ample," Creighton assured him, and added a trifle bitterly,
"I don't seem to have much appetite this evening."

_XXII: A Cry in the Night_

During the progress of that mournful meal his discomfort was vastly
increased by the sudden reflection that he was now confronted with a
most disagreeable necessity. He bit his lip and frowned, strongly
tempted deliberately to sidestep a task so uncongenial.

No--he couldn't shirk it! Come what might, he would see this through
and force himself to act in every respect as he would have acted were
Ocky not involved. She was clean and straight herself, even if
misguided loyalty to Janet had caused her momentarily to swerve from
the narrow path of rectitude, and it would be no compliment to her if
he were to scamp his job. Antagonists they might be in this contest of
wits, but she was too sporting ever to want him to do aught but play
the game for all that was in him.

"What time will Miss Copley be back?" he asked the butler.

"She said about ten, sir."

That would give him ample time for what he proposed to do. The dreary
dinner ended, he went upstairs as though going to his room, but he did
not get quite so far. The hall was empty. The house was still. He
knew there was small chance of any one interrupting him while he worked.

Softly, he turned the knob of Miss Ocky's door, slipped inside and
closed it again behind him. He crossed the room and drew the curtains
of the French window before taking his torch from his pocket.

Then, tight-lipped, he set to work.

An hour passed before his search, swift, silent and sure, approached
its end. He had found nothing to incriminate Janet Mackay, nothing to
connect her departure with any guilty knowledge thereof on the part of
Miss Ocky. He smiled contentedly at the result, exulting in his
failure, then sobered suddenly as the light from his torch, playing
over her desk, discovered to him a neat,