ly melting voice of Jane-Ellen. He glanced at the boy, he
thought of Tucker, he looked long at Jane-Ellen. Who knows what might
have happened if his eyes, which he decided he must wrench away from
hers, had not suddenly fallen upon a small object lying undisguised on
Brindlebury's dressing-table.

It was the pearl set miniature.

All three saw it almost at the same instant. The hands of all went out
toward it, but Crane's reached it first. He took it up.

"Have you any explanation to offer, Brindlebury?" he said.

"I can explain," exclaimed Jane-Ellen.

"I'm sure you can," Crane answered. "The only question is, shall I
believe your explanation."

"He took it because it reminded him of me. That's the only reason he
wanted it."

Crane looked from the miniature to the cook. He knew that this was also
the only reason why he himself wanted it.

"Jane-Ellen," he said, "go downstairs and order the motor to come to the
side door at once."

"Mr. Crane, you're not going to have Brin arrested?"

He shook his head.

"I ought to, perhaps, but I am not going to. I'm going to take him in
the motor to what I consider a safe distance, and drop him."

"Just like a stray cat," gasped Brindlebury's sister.

"Cats usually come back," said the boy, with a return of his normal
spirits.

"Cats have nine lives," replied Crane, significantly.

Something about the tone of this remark put an end to the conversation.
Jane-Ellen obediently left the room. Brindlebury struggled frantically
to strap his bulging bag, and succeeded only with the assistance of
Crane.

When they went downstairs, the motor was already ticking quietly at the
side door. No one was visible, except Jane-Ellen, who was wistfully
watching it.

Brindlebury got in, and set his bag upright between his knees; Crane got
in, and had actually released the brake, when, looking up at the cook
still standing there, he found himself saying:

"Do you want to come, too, Jane-Ellen, to see the last of your brother?"

Of course she did; she looked hastily about and then turned toward the
stairs, but Crane stopped her.

"No," he said, "don't go up. There's a coat of mine there in the coat
closet. Take that."

Immediately she reappeared in a heavy Irish frieze overcoat he had had
made that spring in New Bond Street. It was an easy fit for Crane; it
enveloped Jane-Ellen completely. The collar which she had contrived to
turn up as she put the coat on, stood level with th