ed to end it all, only to be held by pity for the helpless woman
she would be deserting. She told herself a hundred times that her
mother was satisfied in her placid way with the life she was living,
and that her departure would be rather a relief than a cause for
uneasiness. Now she hesitated no longer, and went back to the kitchen,
took off the apron she was wearing, passed along the side-passage, up
the stairs to her room, and began to pack her little bag.

Her mother was facing stark ruin. This man had drawn into his hands
every penny she possessed, and was utilizing it for the furtherance of
his own nefarious business. She had an idea--vague as yet, but later
taking definite shape--that if she might not save her mother from the
wreck which was inevitable, she might at least save something of her
little fortune.

She had "nosed around" to such purpose that she had discovered her
step-father was a man who for years had evaded the grip of an
exasperated constabulary. Some day he would fall, and in his fall
bring down her mother.

Mr. Cresta Morris absorbed in the elaboration of the great plan, was
reminded, by the exhaustion of visible refreshment, that certain of his
instructions had not been carried out.

"Wait a minute," he said. "I told that girl to bring in the kettle at
half-past nine. I'll go out and get it. Her royal highness wouldn't
lower herself by bringing it in, I suppose!"

He found the kettle on the kitchen table, but there was no sign of
Marguerite. This was the culmination of a succession of "slights"
which she had put on him, and in a rage he walked along the passage,
and yelled up the stairs:

"Marguerite!"

There was no reply, and he raced up to her room. It was empty, but
what was more significant, her dresses and the paraphernalia which
usually ornamented her dressing-table had disappeared.

He came down a very thoughtful man.

"She's hopped," he said laconically. "I was always afraid of that."

It was fully an hour before he recovered sufficiently to bring his mind
to a scheme of such fascinating possibilities that even his
step-daughter's flight was momentarily forgotten

* * * * *

On the following morning Mr. Tibbetts received a visitor.

That gentleman who was, according to the information supplied by Mr.
Webber, addressed in intimate correspondence as "Dear Bones," was
sitting in his most gorgeous private office, wrestling with a letter t