woods, or he might have run
to the railroad track and caught the freight that had just slowly
passed. He might be in the next township, or he might be--

"Oh, go to thunder!" said Chamberlain.

CHAPTER XXI

JIMMY REDIVIVUS

If the occupants of the old red house felt over-much inclined to draw a
long breath and rest on their oars after their anxiety and recent
excitement, Agatha's manager was able to supply a powerful antidote.
He was restlessness incarnate.

He was combining a belated summer holiday with what he considered to be
good business, "seeing" not only his prima donna secluded at Ilion, but
other important people all the way from Portland to Halifax. When he
heard that the man who ran off with his racing-car was also responsible
for the mysterious departure of Miss Redmond, his excitement was great.

"You mean to say that you were picked up and drugged in broad daylight
in New York?" he demanded of Agatha.

"Practically that."

"And you escaped?"

"The yacht foundered."

"And that scamp walked right into your hands and you let him go?"

Agatha forced a rueful smile. "I confess I'm not much used to catching
criminals."

Mr. Straker paused, lacking words to express his outraged spirit

"I don't mean you, of course. This whole outfit here--what are they
doing? Think they're put on in a walking part, eh? Don't they know
enough to go in out of the rain?" Getting no reply to his fuming, he
came down from his high horse, curiosity impelling. "What'd he kidnap
you for--ransom?"

"No. It seems that he mistook me for Miss Reynier--the lady out there
on the lawn talking with Mr. Van Camp."

Mr. Straker bent his intent gaze out of the window.

"I don't see any resemblance at all." His crusty manner implied that
Agatha, or somebody, was to blame for all the coil of trouble, and
should be made to pay for it.

"Even I was puzzled," smiled Agatha. "I thought she was some one I
knew."

"Nonsense!" growled Mr. Straker. "Anybody with two eyes could see the
difference. She's older, and heavier. What did the scoundrel want
with her?"

"I don't know. She's a princess or something."

Mr. Straker jumped. "She is!" he cried. "Lord, why didn't you tell
me?"

"I'm trying to."

"Advertising!" he shouted joyfully. "Jimminy Christmas! We'll make it
up--all this time lost. Princess who? Where from? I guess you do
look like her, after all. I see it all now--head-lines! 'Strange
con