ons, from time to time, to
permit the crosstown cars and teams to move in their several directions.

Across from Garrison's corner loomed the great marble library, still
incomplete and gloomily fenced from the sidewalk. Beyond it,
furnishing its setting, rose the trees of Bryant Park, a green oasis in
the tumult and unloveliness about it. Garrison knew the benches there
were crowded; nevertheless, he made his way the length of the block and
found a seat.

He sat there till the sun was gone and dusk closed in upon the city.
The first faint lights began to twinkle, like the palest stars, in the
buildings that hedged the park about. He meant to hunt out a
restaurant and dine presently, but what to do afterward he could not
determine.

There was nothing to be done at Branchville or Hickwood at night, and
but little, for the matter of that, to be done by day. Tomorrow would
be ample time to return to that theater of uncertainty. He longed for
one thing only--another sight of Dorothy--enshrined within his heart.

Reminded at last of the man who had followed on his trail, he purposely
strolled from the park and circled two blocks, by streets now almost
deserted, and was reasonably certain he had shaken off pursuit. As a
matter of fact, his "shadow" had lost him in the Subway, and now,
having notified the Robinsons by telephone, was watching the house
where he roomed.

Garrison ate his dinner in a mood of ceaseless meditation concerning
Dorothy. He was worried to know what might have happened since his
departure from her home. Half inclined in one minute to go again to
the house, in the next he was quite undecided.

The thought of the telephone came like an inspiration. Unless the
Robinsons should interfere, he might readily learn of her condition.

At a drug-store, near the restaurant, he found a quiet booth, far
better suited to his needs than the noisier, more public boxes at the
eating place he had quitted. He closed himself inside the little
cubby-hole, asked for the number, and waited.

It seemed an interminable time till a faint "Hello!" came over the
wire, and he fancied the voice was a man's.

"Hello! Is that Mrs. Fairfax?" he asked. "I'd like to speak to Mrs.
Fairfax."

"Wait a minute, please. Who is it?" said a voice unmistakably
masculine.

"Mr. Wallace," said Garrison, by way of precaution. "She'll
understand."

"Hold the wire, please."

He held the receiver to his ear, and waited ag