se of discomfort and failure on
his own part. The feeling was transient and most unreasonable;
common-sense swept it aside almost as it was formed. He said nothing,
nor did his companion speak again.

The sunset glow and color were gone, but the delicate after-light still
remained as a luminous presence in the land when the automobile entered
the boundaries of the Mercury Company's property. There was a gate
before the private road to Allan Gerard's house. When Corrie halted the
car there and descended to open the way, a ragged, unsavory figure rose
from the grass before him.

"I'll open it, mister," the man volunteered. "Never mind it," as Corrie
felt in his pocket for coin. "I want more than that. Forgotten me, have
you?"

Astonished, Corrie scrutinized him, seeking the recollection implied.

"You're the man in the _Dear Me_!" he identified suddenly. "The man I
threw overboard."

"Ah! You're it." He drew nearer, blinking intelligence. "I served you a
square turn for your grub and clothes, too. Get rid of your friend; you
an' me has got to talk."

Before the bearing of confident familiarity, the unclean personality and
significant smile, Corrie slowly stiffened in rigid distaste.

"What do you want to say to me?" he demanded curtly. "What do you mean
by serving me a square turn? Speak out. There is nothing concerning me
that my friend doesn't already know."

The man projected his unshaven chin, cunningly interrogative. The
intervening months had altered him, not pleasantly. The tramp of the
_Dear Me_ had been unattractive; this man was repellent.

"Is he on to what happened on the day before the last Cup race? Given
him the inside story of that, have you? Or was he there?"

The pause was not noticeably long.

"He is Allan Gerard," said Corrie, his voice suppressed. "Say what you
wish."

"I saw you ridin' past without a hat on, a while ago, an' I knew you.
Want? I want you to stand somethin' for me to live on, Mr. Rose, you
bein' a millionaire. I was on the spot after the smash an' heard the
talk an' saw your wrench picked up. You'd treated me right, so I just
lifted a bunch of tools from one of the machines standin' empty, an'
sprinkled them around that twelve-mile race track. The newspaper fellows
found the things, too, an' kind of thought less of findin' the one where
you smashed Mr. Gerard. One fellow help another, eh? No use of goin' to
Sing Sing, neither."

Corrie's movement was swiftly accurate a