had
literally played many parts, for he had been acting in a touring
company when Morris first met him--Mr. Timothy Webber, a man not
unknown to the Criminal Investigation Department.

"She might have been useful," Mr. Morris went on regretfully, "very
useful indeed. She is as pretty as a picture, I'll give her that due.
Now, suppose she----"

Webber shook his head.

"It's my way or no way," he said decidedly. "I've been a month
studying this fellow, and I tell you I know him inside out."

"Have you been to see him?" asked the second man.

"Am I a fool?" replied the other roughly. "Of course I have not been
to see him. But there are ways of finding out, aren't there? He is
not the kind of lad that you can work with a woman, not if she's as
pretty as paint."

"What do they call him?" asked Morris.

"Bones," said Webber, with a little grin. "At least, he has letters
which start 'Dear Bones,' so I suppose that's his nickname. But he's
got all the money in the world. He is full of silly ass schemes, and
he's romantic."

"What's that to do with it?" asked Job Martin, and Webber turned with a
despairing shrug to Morris.

"For a man who is supposed to have brains----" he said, but Morris
stopped him with a gesture.

"I see the idea--that's enough."

He ruminated again, chewing at his cigar, then, with a shake of his
head----

"I wish the girl was in it."

"Why?" asked Webber curiously.

"Because she's----" He hesitated. "I don't know what she knows about
me. I can guess what she guesses. I'd like to get her into something
like this, to--to----" He was at a loss for a word.

"Compromise?" suggested the more erudite Webber.

"That's the word. I'd like to have her like that!" He put his thumb
down on the table in an expressive gesture.

Marguerite, standing outside, holding the door-handle hesitating as to
whether she should carry in the spirit kettle which Mr. Morris had
ordered, stood still and listened.

The houses in Oakleigh Grove were built in a hurry, and at best were
not particularly sound-proof. She stood fully a quarter of an hour
whilst the three men talked in low tones, and any doubts she might have
had as to the nature of her step-father's business were dispelled.

Again there began within her the old fight between her loyalty to her
mother and loyalty to herself and her own ideals. She had lived
through purgatory these past twelve months, and again and again she had
resolv