hese
messages," he went on, turning to Curlie. "What is your theory?"

Stammeringly Curlie proceeded to explain the idea which had come to him,
the notion that Vincent Ardmore and some pal of his had been planning a
secret trip of some sort.

"That is entirely possible," said Ardmore. "Vincent is daring, even rash
at times. If some wild fancy leaped into his head, he would attempt
anything. Now that you speak of it, I do think there might be something
in your theory. Perhaps after all we may get some light from that map
and the writing on the back of it. I shall await the coming of the
professor with much anxiety."

"Father," exclaimed Gladys, "I have seen some such maps as this one at
some other place."

"Where?"

"It was over at that big library, the one you are a director of."

"The Newtonian?"

"Yes. I was over there once and they showed me a great number of ancient
maps. Oh, a very great number, and such strange affairs as they were!
There were some similar to this one. I know there were!"

"Young man," said the magnate, turning to Curlie, "may I command your
services on this matter for the day?"

Curlie bowed.

"Good! You will not be unrewarded. I am of the opinion that something
may be learned by a study of the maps my daughter speaks of.
Unfortunately I am engaged; I cannot go to the library. Would it be
asking too much were I to request that you accompany her?"

Curlie assured him it would not. In his heart of hearts he assured
himself that it would be a great privilege.

"Very well then, Gladys," the magnate bowed to his daughter, "I suggest
that you plan on being back here at eleven. By that time your French
teacher may have something to tell us."

Bowing to them both, he dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

As the neat little town car, which was apparently Gladys Ardmore's
exclusive property, hurried them away toward the north side library,
Curlie had time to think and to steal a look now and then at his fair
hostess.

Matters had been going rather rapidly of late. He found it difficult to
keep up with the march of events. What should be his next move? He was
torn between two conflicting interests: his loyalty to the radio secret
service bureau and his desire to be of service to this girl and her
father. The girl, as he stole a glance at her, appeared disturbed and
troubled. There was a tenseness about the lines of her mouth, a droop to
her eyelids. "For all the world as if she were i