d yards down the avenue. Police Constable
Farrow, who had been replaced by another constable while he went home
for a meal, was on guard in the Quarry Wood again until the night men
came on duty, and noticed Miss Manning leaving the house. He descended
from his rock and strolled toward the avenue, with no other motive
than a desire to stretch his legs; his perplexity was unbounded when
he discovered Mortimer Fenley's ward deep in conversation with the
artist.

"Well, I'm jiggered!" he said, dodging behind a giant rhododendron.
Whipping out a notebook and consulting his watch, he solemnly noted
time and names in a laboriously accurate round hand. Then he nibbled
his chin strap and dug both thumbs into his belt. His luck was in that
day. He knew something now that was withheld from the Scotland Yard
swells. Sylvia Manning and John Trenholme were acquaintances. Nay,
more; they must be old friends; under his very eyes they went off
together into the park.

Back to his rock went Police Constable Farrow, puzzled but elated. Was
he not a repository of secrets? And that funny little detective had
betaken himself in the opposite direction! Fate was kind indeed.

He would have been still more surprised had Fate permitted him to be
also an eavesdropper, if listeners ever do drop from eaves.

Sylvia was by no means flurried when she came face to face with
Trenholme. The female of the species invariably shows her superiority
on such occasions. Trenholme knew he was blushing and rather
breathless. Sylvia was cool and distant.

"You are Mr. Trenholme, I suppose?" she said, her blue eyes meeting
his brown ones in calm scrutiny.

"Yes," he said, trying desperately to collect his wits. The
well-balanced phrases conned while walking up the avenue had vanished
in a hopeless blur at the instant they were needed. His mind was in a
whirl.

"I am Miss Manning," she continued. "It is hardly possible to receive
visitors at the house this afternoon, and as I happened to be coming
out when Mrs. Bates telephoned from the lodge, I thought you would
have no objection to telling me here why you wish to see me."

"I have come to apologize for my action this morning," he said.

"What action?"

"I sketched you without your knowledge, and, of course, without your
permission."

"You sketched me? Where?"

"When you were swimming in the lake."

"You didn't dare!"

"I did. I'm sorry now, though you inspired the best picture I have
ever pai