let me introduce Miss Bruce--Phyllis Bruce, of whom I
have told you."

Zen's cordial handshake did more to reassure Phyllis than any amount of
explanations, and Linder's timely observation that he knew Wilson was
there and was wondering about him himself had valuable corroborative
effect.

"But now--YOUR explanations?" said Grant. "How comes it, Linder?"

"Simple enough, from our side. When I got back to town last night I
found Murdoch highly excited over a telegram from Miss Bruce that she
would arrive on the 3 a.m. train. He was determined to wait up, but
when the storm came on I persuaded him to go home, as I was sure I could
identify her. So I was lounging in my room waiting for three o'clock
when I got your telephone call. All I could catch was the fact that you
were mighty glad to get me, and had some urgent message for Miss Bruce.
Then the connection broke."

"I see. And you, of course, assured Miss Bruce that I was being
murdered, or meeting some such happy and effective ending, out here in
the wilderness."

"Not exactly that, but I reported what I could, and Miss Bruce insisted
upon coming out at once. The roads were dreadful, but we had daylight.
Also, we have a trophy."

Linder went out and returned in a moment with a sadly bedraggled hat.

"My poor hat!" Zen exclaimed. "I lost it on the way."

"It is the best kind of evidence that you had but recently come over the
road," said Linder, significantly.

"I think no more evidence need be called," said Phyllis. "May I lay off
my things?"

"Certainly--certainly," Grant apologized. "But I must introduce one more
exhibit." He handed her the telegram he had written during the night.
"That is the message I wanted Linder to rush to you," he said, and as
she read it he saw the color deepen in her cheeks.

"I'm going to get breakfast, Mr. Grant," Zen announced with a sudden
burst of energy. "Everybody keep out of the kitchen."

"Guess I'll feed up for you, this morning, old chap," said Linder,
beating a retreat to the stables.

And when Phyllis had laid aside her coat and hat and had straightened
her hair a little in the glass above the mantelpiece she walked straight
to Grant and put both her hands in his. "Let me see this boy, Willie
Transley," she said.

Grant led her into the whim-room, where the boy still slept soundly,
and drew aside the blinds that the morning light might fall about him.
Phyllis bent over the child. "Isn't he dear?" she said, an