ssure you," answered Crane, "and I had been so foolish as to
hope we had heard the last of him. Smithfield told me before dinner that
he left early in the afternoon."

"Smithfield lied to you. The boy is in bed in his own room at this
moment."

"How do you know?"

"Go and see for yourself."

Crane was just angry enough at every one to welcome any action. Only a
few seconds elapsed before he was in the servants' wing of the house.
All the doors were standing open, disclosing black darkness, except one
which was closed, and under this a bright streak was visible.

Crane flung himself upon this, thinking it would be locked, but
evidently Brindlebury had not thought any such precaution necessary. The
door at once yielded, and Crane entered.

Brindlebury, fully dressed, was lying flat on his back on the bed, with
his legs crossed in the air; a cigarette was in his mouth (one of
Burton's cigarettes), a reading-lamp was at his elbow, and he was
engaged in the perusal of a new novel which Crane had received the day
before, and had strangely missed ever since. On the floor near-by was a
tray, empty indeed, but bearing unmistakable signs of having been well
filled only recently.

Crane took the cigarette from Brindlebury's mouth, and the book from his
hand.

"Now," he said, "I'll give you five minutes to get your things together
and get out." There were no signs that packing had ever been
contemplated; all Brindlebury's belongings were undisturbed.

The boy looked at Crane. He would like to have answered, but he could
not think of anything to say, so he got up slowly and tried to smooth
his hair which was very much rumpled.

"I'm not positive I have such a thing as a bag," he observed at length,
but a little search revealed one in the closet. It was marked "B.
Revelly."

"A token of respect from your late employer, I suppose," said Crane.

The boy did not answer. He was rather sulkily putting on his clothes. He
was not a neat packer. A tooth-brush and some pipe tobacco, a wet sponge
and some clean shirts, boots and pajamas were indiscriminately mixed.

The five minutes, unmarked by any conversation, had almost elapsed when
light steps were heard in the hallway, and a voice exclaimed:

"Did you have a good dinner, honey?" and Jane-Ellen came spinning into
the room, all the demureness gone from her manner.

At the sight of her employer, she stopped, and her hand went up to her
mouth with a gesture expressive of t