elf does not believe it--he has simply
chosen you to impersonate the right party because of physical
resemblance."

"Resemblance to whom?"

"To a young woman, a Miss Hope."

"But how do you know this? Why should you be interested? Are you a
detective?"

"No, I am not a detective, but I cannot explain to you my interest. I am
trying to serve you, to keep you from being drawn into a plot--"

"Rather to keep me from learning the truth, Mr. Jack Keith," she burst
forth, rising to her feet indignantly. "You are here trying to prejudice
me against Mr. Hawley. He is your enemy, and you have come to me
stabbing him in the back for revenge. That is your interest. Well, I am
going to see the man, and consider what he has to say. I don't care half
so much about the money as I do to find out who I am. If he can throw
any light on my early life, on my parentage, I shall be the happiest
woman in the world. I am sorry I told you anything--but I am going to
see him just the same. Perhaps he might tell me something about you."

They were both standing, the woman's eyes flashing angrily, defiantly,
her hands clinched. Keith, realizing the false position into which he
had drifted, hesitated to answer. He meant to tell her the whole story
and urge her to cooperate with him in learning the gambler's purpose.
The woman impressed him as honest at heart, in spite of her life and
environment; she was not one whom a swindler could easily dupe into
becoming a tool.

"Miss Maclaire," he began, determined on his course, "listen to me for
just a moment. I am--"

There was a rap at the door. The eyes of both turned that way, and then
Keith backed slowly into the darkened corner beyond the window, his
right hand thrust into the pocket of his coat. Miss Maclaire observed
the movement, her lips smiling, a red flush on either cheek. Then she
stepped across the root, and opened the door. Framed against the black
background of the hall, his dark, rather handsome face clearly revealed
as he fronted the window, his black, audacious eyes fixed appreciatingly
upon the lady, stood "Black Bart" Hawley. He saw no one but her,
realized no other presence, had no thought except to make a good
impression. He was facing a beautiful woman, whom he sought to use, and
he bowed low, hat in hand.

"Miss Maclaire," he said, pleasantly, "I trust you will pardon all that
has occurred between us, and permit me to explain."

"I--I do not understand," she replied, p