sing himself with Potter. Absently now he
pressed the button and watched the light, shining behind his closed
fingers, turn them a bright, transparent red. He did not realize that
Tusk had been keeping a close eye on him until he heard another
exclamation of horror. For the instant he partially suspected mischief
and wheeled about, but one look at the half-wit dissipated all doubt. He
was standing with his mouth open, a picture of abject fear, trying to
speak, stammering, and finally staggered to the fence. Brent was really
concerned for him, thinking it might be some sort of a fit: but Tusk had
turned and, although cringing, was staring back with enchanted eyes.

"Devil!" he hoarsely whispered. "You're full of fire! I jest seen you
light up like a lightnin'-bug! You're a devil! I know; a devil!"

"Oh," Brent, more than ever delighted with this adventure, began to
understand, "I see what you mean! Yes, sure 'nough, I'm the devil--the
very old boy himself, dressed up this way to fool people. Zip!" He let
the torch flash again behind his closed fingers, and again Tusk gasped
and trembled as they turned magically aglow.

"Shut up," Brent commanded. "You'll scare Tom! And if you tell a soul
who I am--well, you can guess what I'll do to you! Now call Tom out, and
put it to him strong. I'll stand in the fence here and listen; and if
you don't put it to him strong!--" Again the electric torch.

Tusk's wavering call sounded before the broken gate, and the injured
voice of Mrs. Hewlet answered. In a few minutes Tom emerged from the
side of the house as before; but a moment after him crept another
figure, stealing through the shadows in a detour and stopping behind the
same bush which sheltered Brent. She was not seen by anyone but him, nor
did she know that he was there.

"Tom," the big fellow whined, "I jest seen 'im;--that--that man 'bout
yoh hund'ed."

Hewlet gave a sign of satisfaction, while Brent wanted to indulge a
chuckle which seemed to arise from all parts of him. He was immeasurably
pleased. He thought humorously of Frankenstein, and how he must have
felt with the monster in his keeping. It was weird, fascinating, and
altogether to his liking.

"He's just beat the hell out of me down the road," Tusk whimpered; "an
now him an' the Cunnel's goin' to town to git you 'rested."

Tom's jaw dropped in utter surprise at both of these statements.

"'Rested!" he cried. "What for?"

"That askin' for money was blackmai