s he one of your subordinates?" queried the woman, leaning forward in
the attitude of one peering intently.

"Must be a shadow you're seein', ma'am," he suggested, and suddenly was
conscious of the queer sensation that some one _was_ on the opposite
side of the tree.

"That's it!" she exclaimed eagerly. "A shadow! Aren't you detectives
always shadowing some one?"

"Yes, but we don't turn into shadows to do it, ma'am. We just--"

"There he is! Standing directly behind you. What object can you
possibly have, Mr. Crow, in lying to me about--"

"Lying?" gasped Anderson, after a swift, apprehensive glance over his
shoulder. "I'm tellin' you the gospel truth. Maybe that confounded
veil's botherin' your eyesight. Take it off, an' you'll see there ain't
no one--"

"Ah! What a remarkable leap! He must be possessed of wings."

Mr. Crow himself moved with such celerity that one might have described
the movement as a leap. He was within a yard of her when he next spoke;
his back was toward her, his eyes searching the darkness from which he
had sprung.

"Good Lord! You--you'd think there _was_ some one there by the way you
talk."

"He leaped from behind that tree to this one over here. It must be
thirty feet. How perfectly amazing!"

By this time the good Marshal was noticeably impressed. There was no
denying the fact that his voice shook.

"_Now_ who's lying?" he cried out.

She took no offence. Instead she pointed down the dark sidewalk. It
seemed to him that her arm was six feet long. He was fascinated by it.

"Now he is climbing up the tree--just like a squirrel. Look!"

Anderson felt the cold perspiration starting out all over his body.

"I--I swear I can't see anybody at all," the Marshal croaked weakly.

"Run over to that tree and look up, Mr. Crow," she whispered in great
agitation. "He is sitting on that big limb, looking at us--his eyes are
like little balls of fire. Send him away, please."

Haltingly the Marshal edged his way toward the tree. Coming to its base,
he peered upward. He saw nothing that resembled a human figure.

"Be careful!" called out the Veiled Lady. "He is about to swing down
upon your head. Hurry! There! Didn't you feel that?"

Anderson Crow made a flying leap for safety. He had the uncanny feeling
that his hair was slowly lifting the hat from his head.

"Feel--feel what?" he gasped.

"He swung down by his hands and kicked at you. I was sure his foot
struck your head. Ah! There