gain. When he worked at her picture, he had
labored at the idealization of a dream which bade fair to remain a
dream. And now by some magic jugglery of ordinary events, each well
within the bounds of credibility, yet so overwhelmingly incredible in
their sequence and completeness, he was Sylvia's lover, her defender,
her trusted knight-errant.

Even the concluding words of that big, round-headed, sensible
detective had brought a fantasy nearer attainment. If Sylvia were
rich, why then a youngster who painted pictures for a living would
hardly dare think of marrying her. But if Sylvia were poor--and
Winter's comments seemed to show that these financiers had been
financing themselves at her expense--what earthly reason was there
that she should not become Mrs. John Trenholme at the earliest
practicable date? None that he could conceive. Why, a fellow would
have to be a fool indeed who did not know when he had met the one
woman in the world! He had often laughed at other fellows who spoke in
that way about the chosen one. Now he understood that they had been
wise and he foolish.

But suppose Sylvia--oh, dash it, no need to spoil one's brief rest by
allowing a beastly doubt like that to rear its ugly head! One thing he
was sure of--Robert Fenley could never be a rival; and Fenley, churl
that he was, had known her for years, and could hardly be pestering
her with his attentions if she were pledged to another man. Moreover
he, John, newly in love and tingling with the thrill of it, fancied
that Sylvia would not have clung to him with such complete confidence
when the uproar arose in the park if----Well, well--the history of the
Fenley case will never be brought to an end if any attempt is made to
analyze the effects of love's first vigorous growth in the artistic
temperament.

About a quarter past three Dr. Stern's little landaulet was halted at
the same cross-road where a policeman had stopped it nearly three
hours earlier.

"That you, Tom?" said the constable. "You're wanted at the station."

"What station?" inquired the chauffeur.

"The police station."

"Am I, by gum? What's up?"

"The Scotland Yard men want you."

"But what for? I haven't run over so much as a hen."

"Oh, it's all right. You're wanted as a witness. Never mind why.
_They_'ll tell you. The doctor is there, smoking a cigar till you turn
up."

"I left him at Joe Bland's."

"Joe Bland has left Boxton for Kingdom Come. And The Towers is half