Transcriber's note:

 The original book contained two chapters numbered XI, each with a different title. Both appeared in the table of contents, listed as Chapters X and XI. The real Chapter X, entitled "Mere Speculation, " was not included in the table of contents. In this e-text the Table of Contents has been corrected to include the real Chapter X and to reflect the fact that the book has two Chapters numbered XI. 

MARY LOUISE SOLVES A MYSTERY

byEdith Van DyneAuthor of"Aunt Jane's Nieces Series"

Frontispiece by Anna B. Mueller

[Illustration: frontispiece]

The Reilly & Lee Co. Chicago

Copyright, 1917byThe Reilly & Britton Co. 

_Mary Louise Solves a Mystery_

CONTENTS

 I DOCTOR AND PATIENT II MOTHER AND DAUGHTER III ALORA'S FATHER IV ALORA'S NEW LIFE V IN THE STUDIO VI FLITTING VII MARY LOUISE INTRUDES VIII MARY LOUISE MEETS ALORA IX MARY LOUISE SCENTS A MYSTERY X MERE SPECULATION XI ALORA SPEAKS FRANKLY XI JASON JONES IS FRIGHTENED XII SILVIO'S GOLD XIII DORFIELD XIV HOME AGAIN XV THE PUZZLE BECOMES INTRICATE XVI ALORA WINS HER WAY XVII THE DISAPPEARANCE XVIII ON THE TRAIL XIX DECOYED XX JANET'S TRIUMPH XXI THE PRICE OF LIBERTY XXII A COMPROMISE XXIII MARY LOUISE HAS AN INTUITION XXIV AN INTERRUPTION XXV JASON JONES XXVI WHAT MARY LOUISE ACCOMPLISHED

Mary Louise Solves a Mystery

CHAPTER IDOCTOR AND PATIENT

A little girl sat shivering in a corner of a reception room in thefashionable Hotel Voltaire. It was one of a suite of rooms occupied byMrs. Antoinette Seaver Jones, widely known for her wealth and beauty, and this girl--a little thing of eleven--was the only child of Mrs. Antoinette Seaver Jones, and was named Alora. 

It was not cold that made her shiver, for across the handsomelyfurnished room an open window gratefully admitted the summer sunshineand the summer breeze. Near the window, where the draught came coolest, a middle-aged woman in a sober dress sat reading. Alora did not look atthis person but kept her gaze fixed anxiously upon the doorway that ledto the corridor, and the spasmodic shudders that at times shook herlittle body seemed due to nervous fear. 

The room was so still that every tick of the Dresden clock could bedistinctly heard. When Miss Gorham, Alora's governess, turned a page ofher book, the rustle was appallingly audible. And the clock ticked on, and Miss Gorham turned page after page, and still the child sat bowedupon her chair and eagerly eyed the passageway. 

It seemed ages before the outer door of the suite finally opened and aman moved softly down the passage and paused at the entrance of thereception room. The man was white-haired, dignified and distinguishedin appearance. Hat in hand, he stood as if undecided while Alorabounded from her seat and came to him, her eyes, big and pleading, reading his face with dramatic intentness. 

"Well, well, my dear; what is it?" he said in a kindly voice. 

"May I see my mamma now, Doctor?" she asked. 

He shook his head, turning to the table to place his hat and glovesupon it. 

"Not just yet, little one, " he gently replied, and noting herquick-drawn breath of disappointment he added: "Why, I haven't seenher myself, this morning. "

"Why do you keep me from her, Doctor Anstruther? Don't you know it's--it's wicked, and cruel?"--a sob in her voice. 

The old physician looked down upon the child pityingly. 

"Mamma is ill--very ill, you know--and to disturb her might--it might--well, it might make her worse, " he explained lamely. 

"I won't disturb her. There's a nurse in there, all the time. Whyshould I disturb my mamma more than a nurse?" asked Alora pleadingly. 

He evaded the question. The big eyes disconcerted him. 

"When I have seen your mother, " said he, "I may let you go to her for afew minutes. But you must be very quiet, so as not to excite her. Wemust avoid anything of an exciting nature. You understand that, don'tyou, Lory?"

She studied his face gravely. When he held out a hand to her she clungto it desperately and a shudder again shook her from head to foot. 

"Tell me, Doctor Anstruther, " in low, passionate tones, "is my motherdying?"

He gave an involuntary start. 

"Who put that notion into your head, Lory?"

"Miss Gorham. "

He frowned and glanced reprovingly at the governess, who had loweredher book to her lap and was regarding the scene with stolid unconcern. 

"You mustn't mind such idle gossip, my dear. I am the doctor, you know, and I am doing all that can be done to save your mother's life. Don'tworry until I tell you to, Lory; and now let me go to see my patient. "

He withdrew his hand from her clasp and turned into the passage again. The girl listened to his footsteps as he approached her mother'sbedchamber, paused a moment, and then softly opened the door andentered. Silence again pervaded the reception room. The clock resumedits loud ticking. Miss Gorham raised her book. Alora went back to herchair, trembling. 

The front bedchamber was bright and cheery, a big room fitted withevery modern luxury. The doctor blinked his eyes as he entered from thedim passage, for here was sunlight and fresh air in plenty. Beside thebed stood a huge vase of roses, their delicate fragrance scenting theatmosphere. Upon the bed, beneath a costly lace coverlid, lay a womanthirty-five years of age, her beautiful face still fresh and unlined, the deep blue eyes turned calmly upon the physician. 

"Welcome, Doctor Anstruther, " she said. "Do you realize you have keptme waiting?"

"I am sorry, Mrs. Jones, " he replied, approaching her. "There are somany demands upon my time that----"

"I know, " a little impatiently; "but now that you are here please tellme how I am this morning. "

"How do you feel?"

"I do not suffer, but it takes more morphine to quiet the pain. Janethas used the hypodermic four times since midnight, " with a glance atthe gray-robed nurse who stood silently by the table. 

The doctor nodded, thoughtfully looking down her. There was smallevidence of illness in her appearance, but he knew that her hours werenumbered and that the dread disease that had fastened upon her wascreeping on with ever increasing activity. She knew it, too, and smileda grim little smile as she added: "How long can I last, at this rate?"

"Do not anticipate, my dear, " he answered gravely. "Let us do all thatmay be done, and----"

"I must know!" she retorted. "I have certain important arrangements tomake that must not be needlessly delayed. "

"I can understand that, Mrs. Jones. "

"Then tell me frankly, how long have I to live?"

"Perhaps a month; possibly less; but----"

"You are not honest with me, Doctor Anstruther! What I wish to know--what I _must_ know--is how soon this disease will be able to kill me. If we manage to defer the end somewhat, all the better; but the fiendmust not take me unaware, before I am ready to resign my life. "

He seated himself beside the bed and reflected. This was his mostinteresting patient; he had attended her constantly for more than ayear and in this time had learned to admire not only her beauty ofperson but her "gameness" and wholesome mentality. He knew something ofher past life and history, too, as well from her own lips as fromcommon gossip, for this was no ordinary woman and her achievements werefamiliar to many. 

She was the daughter of Captain Bob Seaver, whose remarkable career wasknown to every man in the West. Captain Bob was one "forty-niners" andhad made fortunes and lost them with marvelous regularity. He had afaculty for finding gold, but his speculations were invariably unwise, so his constant transitions from affluence to poverty, and vice versa, were the subject of many amusing tales, many no doubt grosslyexaggerated. And the last venture of Captain Bob Seaver, before hedied, was to buy the discredited "Ten-Spot" mine and start to developit. 

At that time he was a widower with one motherless child--Antoinette--agirl of eighteen who had been reared partly in mining camps and partlyat exclusive girls' schools in the East, according to her father'svarying fortunes. "Tony" Seaver, as she was generally called in thosedays, combined culture and refinement with a thorough knowledge ofmining, and when her father passed away and left her absolute mistressof the tantalizing "Ten-Spot, " she set to work to make the mine asuccess, directing her men in person and displaying such shrewdjudgment and intelligence, coupled with kindly consideration for herassistants, that she became the idol of the miners, all of whom wereproud to be known as employees of Tony Seaver's "Ten-Spot" would havedied for their beautiful employer if need be. 

And the "Ten-Spot" made good. In five years Tony had garnered a millionor two of well-earned dollars, and then she sold out and retired frombusiness. Also, to the chagrin of an army of suitors, she married anartist named Jason Jones, whose talent, it was said, was not so greatas his luck. So far, his fame rested on his being "Tony Seaver'shusband. " But Tony's hobby was art, and she had recognized real worth, she claimed, in Jason Jones' creations. On her honeymoon she carriedher artist husband to Europe and with him studied the works of themasters in all the art centers of the Continent. Then, enthusiastic andeager for Jason's advancement, she returned with him to New York andset him up in a splendid studio where he had every convenience andincentive to work. 

So much the world at large knew. It also knew that within three yearsMrs. Antoinette Seaver Jones separated from her husband and, with herbaby girl, returned West to live. The elaborate Jones studio wasabandoned and broken up and the "promising young artist" disappearedfrom the public eye. Mrs. Jones, a thorough business woman, hadretained her fortune in her own control and personally attended to herinvestments. She became noted as a liberal patron of the arts and agenerous donor to worthy charities. In spite of her youth, wealth, andbeauty, she had no desire to shine in society and lived a somewhatsecluded life in luxurious family hotels, attending with muchsolicitude to the training and education of her daughter Alora. 

At first she had made Denver her home, but afterward migrated from onemiddle-west city to another until she came to Chicago, where she hadnow lived for nearly three years, occupying the most expensive suite ofrooms at the very exclusive Hotel Voltaire. 

Alora fairly worshipped her beautiful mother and although Mrs. Antoinette Seaver Jones was considered essentially cold and unemotionalby those who knew her casually, there was no doubt she prized her childas her dearest possession and lavished all the tenderness and love ofwhich she was capable upon her. 

Retrospectively, Doctor Anstruther considered this historical revue ofhis fair patient as he sat facing her. It seemed a most unhappy fatethat she should be cut off in the flower of her womanhood, but her casewas positively hopeless, and she knew it and had accepted the harshverdict without a murmur. Bravery had always been Tony Seaver's primecharacteristic. To Doctor Anstruther it seemed that she might as wellknow the truth which she had demanded from his lips. 

"This disease is one that accelerates toward the end, " he said. "Withinthe past few days we have noted its more virulent tendency. All we cando now is to keep you from suffering until--the end. "

"And that will be--when?" she demanded. 

"I think I can safely give you a week but----"

"Then I must act at once, " she said, as he hesitated. "I must, first ofall, make provision for Alora's future, and in this I require yourhelp. "

"You know you may depend upon me, " he said simply. 

"Please telegraph at once to my husband Jason Jones, in New York. "

The request startled him, for never before had she mentioned herhusband's name in his presence. But he asked, calmly enough:

"What is his address?"

"Hand me that small memorandum-book, " pointing to the stand beside him. He obeyed, and as she turned the leaves slowly she said:

"Doctor Anstruther, you have been my good and faithful friend, and youought to know and to understand why I am now sending for my husband, from whom I have been estranged for many years. When I first met JasonJones he was a true artist and I fell in love with his art rather thanwith the man. I was ambitious that he should become a great painter, world-famous. He was very poor until he married me, and he had workedindustriously to succeed, but as soon as I introduced him to a life ofcomfort--I might even add, of luxury--his ambition to work graduallydeserted him. With his future provided for, as he thought, he failed tounderstand the necessity of devoting himself to his brush and palette, but preferred a life of ease--of laziness, if you will. So wequarreled. I tried to force him back to his work, but it was no use; mymoney had ruined his career. I therefore lost patience and decided toabandon him, hoping that when he was again thrown upon his ownresources he would earnestly resume his profession and become a master, as I believed him competent to be. We were not divorced: we merelyseparated. Finding I had withdrawn his allowance he was glad to see mego, for my unmerciful scoldings had killed any love he may have had forme. But he loved Lory, and her loss was his hardest trial. I may havebeen as much to blame as he for our lack of harmony, but I have alwaysacted on my impulses. 

"I'll give Jason Jones the credit for not whimpering, " she resumedthoughtfully, after a brief pause, "nor has he ever since appealed tome for money. I don't know how well he has succeeded, for we do notcorrespond, but I have never heard his name mentioned in the artcircles I have frequented. He remained in New York, I believe, and so Ichose to keep away from New York. A year or two ago, however, I met aman who had known Jason Jones and who gave me his address. Here it is:1744 East Sixty-seventh street. Will you make a copy of it, Doctor?"

He nodded. 

"What shall I say in the telegram?" he asked, writing the address inhis notebook. 

"Tell him I am dying and seek a reconciliation before I pass away. Beghim to come to me at once. "

Dr. Anstruther jotted down the instructions underneath the address. 

"You must understand, " she continued, "that Jason Jones is an honorableman and in many ways a high-minded gentleman. I have lived with him ashis wife and I know that he is well fitted to care for our child and torear her properly. I have left my entire fortune to Alora, but I havemade Jason my sole executor, and he is to have control, under certainrestrictions, of all the income until Alora is eighteen. I think hewill be glad to accept the responsibility, both on Alora's account andfor the money. "

"Doubtless, if he has not been a success as an artist since yourseparation, " remarked the doctor, drily. 

"The man I spoke of said Jason was living in quite modestcircumstances. He said that although he had succeeded in selling a fewpaintings they had brought rather insignificant sums--which surprisedme, as I know they must have possessed a degree of merit. However, Imay be mistaken in thinking his talent exceptional. Anyhow, myexperiment in leaving him to his own devices seems not to have resultedas I had hoped, and I now am willing he should handle Alora's incomeand live comfortably while he is educating her. She will probablyprovide for her father when she comes of age, but I have not includedsuch a request in my will and I have endeavored, in case he provesinclined to neglect her, to require the court to appoint anotherguardian. That is, of course, merely a precaution, for I know hisnature is gentle and kind, and he adores--or at least he used to adorechildren. "

The doctor sat, notebook in hand, musing. The matter-of-fact, businesslike way in which she referred to her marital relations and herassumed unconcern over her own dreadful fate impressed the good man asextraordinary. But he was relieved to know that little Alora, of whomhe had grown quite fond, was to have the guardianship of a parent, andglad that the character of Jason Jones was above reproach. The man'sfailure to succeed as an artist, while it might have been a source ofchagrin to his art-loving wife, did not lower him to any extent in Dr. Anstruther's opinion. 

"I suppose Alora does not remember her father?" he presently remarked. 

"She was about two years old when we separated. "

"And you say your will is already drawn?"

"Judge Bernsted, my lawyer, has attended to it. It is now in hispossession, properly signed and witnessed. "

"If Bernsted drew the will, it is doubtless legal and in accordancewith your wishes. But who witnessed it?"

"My nurse, Janet. "

He glanced at the motionless figure of the attendant, who had remainedso inert at her post by the window that he had quite forgotten herpresence. She was a young woman, perhaps thirty years of age, and notunprepossessing in appearance, in spite of her modest uniform. 

Janet's one peculiarity was her downcast eyes. They were good eyes, bright and intelligent, but she kept them veiled by their long lashesand drooping lids. Dr. Anstruther attached no significance to thistrait, doubtless a habit of modest reserve acquired in her profession. He had himself recommended the woman to Mrs. Jones, having frequentlyemployed her on other cases and found her deft, skillful and thoroughlyreliable. Janet Orme's signature to the will he regarded assatisfactory, since Judge Bernsted had accepted it. 

A moan from his patient suddenly aroused the doctor. Her face wasbeginning to twitch spasmodically with pain. In an instant Janet was ather side, hypodermic needle in hand, and the opiate was soonadministered. 

"Send the telegram, " muttered Mrs. Jones, still breathing hard; "and, as you go out, Doctor, send Alora to me. I shall have relief in a fewmoments. "

"To be sure, " he said, rising. "Lory has been begging to see you, andI'll attend to the telegram at once. "

CHAPTER IIMOTHER AND DAUGHTER

The child crept softly to her mother's bedside, but once there sheimpulsively threw her arms about "Mamma Tone's" neck and embraced herso tightly that the sick woman was obliged to tear the little armsaway. She did this tenderly, though, and holding the trembling hands inher own kissed both of Lory's cheeks before she said:

"I've news for you, dear. "

"Are you better, mamma?" asked Lory. 

"Of course not, " was the calm reply. "You mustn't expect mamma ever toget well, my darling. But that shouldn't worry you--not too much, youknow. One of the queer things about life is that it has an end, sooneror later, and in mamma's case it comes to an end a little sooner thanyou and I might wish it to. "

"Oh, Mamma Tone!" An agonized cry, with the small hands clasped tightlyover her throbbing heart. But Tony Seaver did not flinch. 

"The news I have will surprise you, Lory dear. Your father, who lovedyou devotedly when you were a baby, but whom you have never known tillnow, is coming here to see us. "

Alora's eyes grew big with wonder, but other thoughts drove even thisstrange news from her mind. 

"I can't let you go, Mamma Tone, " she wailed, sobbing; "I can't let youdie and leave me all alone!"

The woman's breast heaved. She was silent a moment and then saidquietly:

"Even kings and queens, sweetheart, have no command over life anddeath. When it is too late to help it, we realize we have been born;when it is too late to help it, we realize we must die. But whycomplain, when it is the fate of all humanity? To be true to ourCreator, who directs all things, we must bow to His will withoutprotest. You will love your father, Lory, because he will love you; andhe is a good man, and kindly, so I believe he will make your life ashappy as I could have done. "

"I don't want him; I want _you, _ Mamma--I want _you!"_

The mother sighed wearily and the alert nurse advanced and said to thechild in grave, cold tones:

"You must control yourself, Miss Alora, if you wish to remain. "

The threat quieted the little girl at once. 

"I'll be good, Mamma Tone, " she whispered softly. "Talk to me, and tellme what I must do. "

So the dying woman talked to her, not of herself, but of Alora'sfather, and of how she would like her child to conduct herself whileshe grew in womanhood. She spoke of her will, and told Lory what itmeant to her and how she had safe-guarded her interests as well as shewas able. To this Lory listened intently and, although she stilltrembled at times, she had Tony Seaver's blood in her veins and couldbe brave in spite of the terrors that faced her. Dimly she realizedthat her mother was suffering through the knowledge of their inevitableparting, even as Alora was suffering, and felt she could comfort thatbeloved mother more by controlling her grief bravely than by giving wayto it in her mother's presence. 

Meantime, Dr. Anstruther had returned to his office and had written anddispatched the following telegram:

"Jason Jones, 1744 East 67th St. , New York City. 

"Your wife is dying at the Hotel Voltaire and wishes reconciliationbefore she passes away. Come quickly, as any delay may prove dangerous. Notify me by wire when to expect you. Edward Anstruther, M. D. "

He left orders that the answer be delivered to him at his office orresidence, as soon as received, but the day and the night passedwithout a word from Jason Jones. Dr. Anstruther telephoned thetelegraph office and was assured his message had been delivered to theparty in New York, as otherwise they would be notified to that effect. 

Knowing Mrs. Jones' dangerous condition, the good doctor was worried, but the following morning brought the delayed answer:

"If necessary for me to come, you must send money for expenses. "

It was signed "Jason Jones" and its tone and its demand annoyed Dr. Anstruther exceedingly. 

"Confound the fellow!" he exclaimed. "Any decent man would haveborrowed the money, or even pawned his watch and jewelry, to get to adying wife who calls for him. Either Mrs. Jones is mistaken in herhusband's kindly character or--well, he may have changed since last sheknew him. "

He did not hesitate, however, to go to the office and send money bytelegraph to Jason Jones, furnishing the required sum from his ownpocket rather than allow Antoinette to see her husband's telegram. Heeven sent more than was necessary, muttering to himself: "The poordevil may have some bills to settle before he can get away, and in anyevent she must not be disappointed because her impecunious husbandlacks a few dollars. I fancy the poor artist will be amazed to findhimself suddenly raised from poverty to affluence, for little Lory'sincome will be enormous and he will have seven years, at least, toenjoy it unrestrained. I hope, " he added thoughtfully, as he drove backto his office, "that Mrs. Jones has made no error in her judgment ofthis man, for it is considerable power to place in anyone's hands andAlora is such a dear that I want her properly taken care of. "

When he made his next visit to his patient he said in answer to herquestioning look:

"Mr. Jones will be here to-morrow, I think. He will notify me of hisarrival and I will be here to meet him. I believe it will be advisablefor me to see him first, you know, in order to--eh--eh--to post him abit, " he added, meaningly. 

"Yes, " she replied, "I fear it will be something of a shock to Jason. Even though we have practically been strangers for years, he is sure tobe grieved and sympathetic. But do not bore him with particulars, Doctor. Send him to me as soon as you have prepared him for theinterview. "

CHAPTER IIIALORA'S FATHER

A man slouched into the lofty foyer of the Hotel Voltaire and pauseduncertainly, as if awed by the splendor of the place. A boy in uniformhastened to relieve him of his hand baggage, which consisted of a"roll-me-up" or "carryall" of brown canvas, strapped around the middle, such as one often sees in traveling on the Continent. It seemed a muchused and abused affair and painted upon the ends were the dimmedinitials: "J. J. "

This man was plainly dressed. His clothing was of the cheap, ready-madevariety, worn nearly to shabbiness and matched by a gray flannel shirtwith a flowing black tie, knotted at the throat, and a soft gray hatthat was a bit weatherstained. His shoes were shabby and unshined. Hiswhole appearance was out of keeping with the palatial hotel he hadentered. 

Without relinquishing his baggage to the boy he asked sharply:

"Is Dr. Anstruther here?"

But now Dr. Anstruther, who had been impatiently waiting, espied thearrival and after a glance at the initials on the traveling-roll saidin hesitating tones:

"Mr. Jason Jones?"

"Yes. You must be the doctor who telegraphed me. "

"I am Doctor Anstruther. "

"All right. Where's my wife?"

There was no especial anxiety in his tones, which were slow anddistinct and a trifle sharp. He seemed ill at ease and looked aroundthe foyer again, as if fearing he had entered the wrong place. 

"I will lead you to her presently, " replied the physician gravely; "butfirst, sir, I must acquaint you with her condition, which is serious. Ihave engaged a room for you here and if you will please register wewill go there together and talk undisturbed. "

"All right, " said Jason Jones. He registered at the desk and thenturned and announced: "I'm ready. Go ahead. "

Those present in the foyer cast curious glances at the stranger as hepassed them and followed Dr. Anstruther to the elevator. The boyaccompanied them, now carrying the roll of baggage. The grandeur of theroom they entered, which was convenient to the suite of Mrs. Jones, seemed to astonish the artist, although it was as simply furnished asany the great hotel contained. However, he made no remark but removedhis hat, seated himself, and looked inquiringly at the physician. 

"Mrs. Jones, " began Dr. Anstruther, "is really dying. I cannot say howlong she may survive, but it is a matter of days--perhaps hours. Hergreatest anxiety at present is to be reconciled with you, whom she hasnot seen or even communicated with for years. "

"Did she say that?"

"Yes. "

"And she wants to be reconciled?"

"She does. "

"Rather a queer notion, that, " remarked Mr. Jones, musingly. 

"Very natural, I think, under the circumstances, " stiffly replied thedoctor. "She has every confidence in you and admires your characterexceedingly, although it was her desire that you live apart. "

The man's stolid countenance relaxed in a grin--a somewhat scornful andunbelieving expression--but he did not speak. He was not a very tallman; he was thin of figure and hardened of muscle; his head was bald infront, giving him the appearance of a high forehead, and the hair atthe back and around the ears was beginning to gray. His eyes were lightblue; his nose was shapely and his jaws prominent and tightly set inrepose. His age was about forty. 

"Mrs. Jones, " continued the doctor, "knows that you are due to arriveat this time and is eagerly counting the minutes; not that you are sodear to her, " he asserted in retaliation for the sneer upon hishearer's lips, "but because she has important business matters toarrange with you before she passes away. "

"Business matters?"

"So she has told me. I believe, " he said, after a brief period ofhesitation, during which he considered how best to handle this peculiarartist, "that I will allow you to see your wife at once, that you maylearn her plans from her own lips. "

Indeed, he had already decided that Jason Jones must have changedmaterially, and for the worse, since Antoinette Seaver had known him. Perhaps, when she had talked with the man, she would revise her opinionof him and make other disposition of her finances and the guardianshipof her child. In that case it would not be well for him to give herhusband any inkling of her present plans. Having reached thisconclusion, Dr. Anstruther rose abruptly and said: "Come with me, please. "

Jason Jones made no demur. Without remark he followed his conductorinto the hallway and to the entrance to the suite occupied by his wife. The governess had been instructed to take Alora out for a ride; therewas no one in the little reception room. Here, however, the doctorhalted, and pointing to the door at the further end of the passage hesaid:

"That is your wife's sick chamber. Please enter quietly and rememberthe danger of exciting Mrs. Jones unduly. Be gentle, and--considerate. "

Jason Jones nodded. A moment he regarded the door with curiousintentness, savoring of reluctance. Then he slowly advanced, opened itand went in, closing the door softly behind him. 

Dr. Anstruther seated himself in the reception room. The artist puzzledhim greatly, although he prided himself--through long professionalexperience--on being able to read human nature with some accuracy. Thissummons to his dying-wife ought to seem the most natural thing in theworld to Jason Jones, yet the man appeared dazed and even bewildered bythe event, and while he had once lived in luxurious surroundings hislater experiences must have been so wholly different that the splendorof his wife's mode of living quite embarrassed him. Yes, the contrastwas sharp, it must be admitted; the man had formerly shared TonySeaver's immense wealth; he had enjoyed the handsomest studio in NewYork; and then--back to poverty, to drudgery, to a struggle for merefood and clothing! Years of hardship were likely to have had a decidedeffect upon the character of a man who was doubtless weak in thebeginning; it would make him hard, and bitter, and----

A shrill scream startled him. It came from the sick chamber and wasechoed by another cry--hoarse and terrified--in a man's voice. 

Dr. Anstruther sprang to his feet and hurried into the patient'sbedchamber. 

"The woman's dead, Doctor, " cried Jason Jones, standing in the middleof the room. "She's dead!"

The physician hastened to the bedside, where Janet Orme, the nurse, wasbending over the still form. Pushing her away, Dr. Anstruther made ahurried examination. 

It was true; the woman was dead. At the very moment of reunion with thehusband from whom she had so long been parted, she had passed on toanother life, leaving reconciliation in abeyance. 

Mrs. Antoinette Seaver Jones lay beneath her lace covered with featurescontorted, mouth half open and eyes staring wildly. A paroxysm of painhad carried her off, the good doctor well knew; the pain, and theexcitement of the moment. Very tenderly he bent down and closed theeyes and pressed the lips together. He smoothed the lines from thecheeks, so that the face became more natural in appearance. Then, witha sigh--for he had become fond of this brave, beautiful patient--heturned away to find Jason Jones and the nurse Janet confronting oneanother in tense attitudes. The man stared wonderingly into the nurse'sface; Janet, her eyes now unveiled, returned the stare with anexpression that Dr. Anstruther could not fathom. 

They seemed to feel the doctor's observation, for Janet turned her backabruptly, while the man swung around and tiptoed hastily from the room. 

Dr. Anstruther looked at the nurse reflectively. 

"Who was it that screamed? Was it you, or Mrs. Jones?" he asked. 

She hesitated a moment. 

"It was I, " she replied. "I saw her face and knew that--that the endhad come. "

It was a lie, and the nurse knew that the shrewd doctor recognized itas a lie. But he made no comment and with a last regretful look towardthe bed he followed Jason Jones out. 

CHAPTER IVALORA'S NEW LIFE

Time sears all heart wounds. The scars remain, perhaps, but as theclock ticks on the ache is stilled and the soreness finally passesaway. 

At first Alora was heart-broken over her mother's loss. She lived in asort of stupor for weeks after the funeral. Her father's presence sheaccepted without comment or emotion, for it had been arranged by "MammaTone. " She did not consider, in those first weeks, whether she caredfor her newly found father or not. Her mother's statement that he was a"good man" and would love Alora dearly was taken by the child as amatter of fact, while her mother's injunction to love him and confidein him in her stead was for the present ignored. 

Indeed, during those first weeks Lory had no fault to find with her newprotector, for she saw little of him. Jason Jones retained his room atthe hotel and allowed Alora and her governess to inhabit the handsomesuite her mother had occupied, although they were much too small forthe big apartments. However, Lory would have felt uncomfortable, justthen, in any other place. Her mother's chamber was closed and thecurtains drawn, but every night before she retired to her own littleroom the child would steal in, in the dark, and feel her way to theempty bed and kiss the pillow on which her dear mother's head hadrested. Miss Gorham, the governess, was aware of these eveningexcursions, but offered no objection. Indeed, the woman objected tonothing that did not interfere with her own personal comfort andconvenience. Under the eyes of Mrs. Jones she had been prim anddutiful, but there was no one to chide her now, however neglectful shechose to be, and it was true that during these days the little girlrequired no particular care. Alora resumed her morning studies withmeekness a week after her mother had been laid away, and in theafternoons she rode or walked with Miss Gorham or received the callerswho came to "console poor Antoinette Seaver Jones' child. "

Despite her haughty reserve, Mrs. Antoinette Seaver Jones hadaccumulated a wide circle of acquaintances--if not friends--whosincerely mourned her untimely death and would have been glad tobefriend her little girl were such services needed. But it was knownthat Alora's father had now appeared to guard her welfare and there was"so much money in the Jones family" that no financial aid was required;therefore, these acquaintances could only call to see Alora and professtheir friendship. 

The child listened gravely to their stilted praises of her mother andaccepted their platitudes in good faith. It was indeed comforting tohear so many nice things said of her loved one. 

Her father was never present on these occasions. He was by no means asociable man. Sometimes he came in for a few minutes, in the morning, and sat down and stared at the girl in a way half curious and halfspeculative, and said little, and presently went away as quietly as hehad come. 

The nurse, Janet Orme, left on the day that Mrs. Jones died, and Alorahad almost forgotten the young woman when one afternoon she came to seeher. Janet no longer wore her nurse's uniform but was dressed inultra-fashionable apparel and to the child's amusement affected themanners of a lady. She talked more with Miss Gorham than with the littlegirl and was keen to know what arrangements had been made for theirfuture. Miss Gorham admitted that she had no idea of Mr. Jones'intentions. Of course they could not remain long in this elaboratesuite; a smaller one would be more satisfactory in every way; but Mr. Jones had not as yet mentioned the subject. 

A few days afterward, during one of their walks, Alora was surprised tosee her father and nurse Janet riding past in a hired automobile. Thetwo seemed engaged in earnest conversation and neither noticed Alora orher governess. Miss Gorham snorted rather disdainfully but withoutremark, and Lory was not especially interested in the matter. 

Meantime, letters of administration had been issued to Jason Jones andthe control of his wife's--now Alora's--property legally placed in hishands. Judge Bernsted attended to all the necessary details and, whilehe did not admire the artist and secretly believed he was unfitted forthe task of handling so much money, he loyally insisted that the deadwoman's wishes be obeyed to the letter. 

Dr. Anstruther had called on the attorney and had ventured to state hismisgivings concerning Jason Jones, pleading that Alora was likely tosuffer through the man's indifference and lack of culture, but JudgeBernsted declared it was not his duty to criticise character but to seethat the wishes of his clients were obeyed. In this case doubtless theman's wife knew him more intimately than anyone else and if she trustedhim, aware as she must be of his faults and virtues, it would bepresumptuous for anyone to try to break her will or otherwise interferewith her carefully planned arrangements. 

But Jason Jones was improving, in a way. He had bought new clothes anda supply of linen, and although he did not wear them with the ease ofone accustomed to modish dress they certainly improved his appearance. He was quiet and unassuming; he made no friends and few acquaintances;he never mentioned himself or his personal history and never referredto his wife except when forced to do so by some of "her meddlingfriends"--well meaning people who sought his acquaintance to condolewith him or perhaps to attempt to "cultivate" him for Antoinette SeaverJones' sake. But these found him so unresponsive that they soon lefthim alone. 

The legal business, even though it progressed smoothly, required timefor consummation, so it was somewhat more than three months before allthe details were complete. Alora, a sad-faced child with no especialinterest in life, kept no track of time and plodded along in hermorning-studies and took her afternoon drives or walks in a perfunctorymanner that rendered Miss Gorham's duties light indeed. But all thisended suddenly, and Jason Jones ended it. 

He came to the rooms one morning and said to the governess in hisabrupt way: "Pack up. "

"What do you mean, sir?" was the startled query. 

"Just what I say. Get the child's things and your own ready to move outof this place by Saturday. Also pack the personal belongings of Mrs. Jones. Put them in separate trunks and boxes, so I can have themstored. Do you understand me?"

"I--I shall need assistance, " gasped the bewildered Miss Gorham. 

"Then get a maid--or a porter--or both--to help you. "

Alora was present and listened with awakening interest. A change of anysort would be pleasant, she reflected. 

"Where are we going?" she asked, as her father turned away. 

It was the one question Miss Gorham wanted to ask, too, but Mr. Jonesleft the room without reply. 

Three days was little enough time to gather up and pack theaccumulation of years. The governess knew there were many big trunks inthe storeroom of the hotel belonging to Mrs. Jones, and these sheordered brought up to the rooms. Then she procured two maids, told themwhat and how to pack, and composedly resumed her reading. 

"I am no menial, " she told Alora, with a lofty air of superiority;"these persons will do their work properly, I'm sure. "

On Saturday morning Mr. Jones appeared again. 

"Is everything ready?" he demanded. 

"Ask Susan and Jane, " replied Miss Gorham. 

Susan and Jane declared everything was packed, even to the suit casesand traveling satchels. 

"But where are we going?" inquired the governess. 

"You are going wherever you please, " said Jason Jones. "I do notrequire your services longer. "

"You're going to discharge me?" she said, startled. 

"You are already discharged. "

"But who will look after poor Lory? Who will attend to her education, and to--to--her comforts?"

"I will. Here is your money. I have paid you a week in advance, in lieuof notice. "

"A week? Pooh! I'm hired by the year, " asserted the woman defiantly. 

"Have you a written contract?"

"No; a verbal contract is just as good. "

"It won't hold in law. Take your traps and go--at once. "

The governess looked at him. He was absolutely calm and determined. Instinctively she knew that any protest would be unavailing. 

Alora regarded the dismissal of her governess with as much unconcern asher father displayed. Miss Gorham had been her companion for years, buthad never won the smallest corner of the girl's heart. Although she wasnot aware of the fact, the woman's constant presence and lack ofinterest in her had become oppressive. The child's first sensation, onrealizing their future separation, was one of distinct relief. 

When Miss Gorham had gone, seeming to begrudge the terse "good-bye" shegave her pupil, the girl's father quietly said: "Come, Alora, " andwalked away. 

She followed him to a waiting taxicab, in which had been heaped herhand luggage and his own, and they drove away from the grand hotelwhere she had lived in luxury for so long, and where so many indeliblememories had been impressed upon her childish mind, with as little adoas if they had been transient guests. 

When the cab drew up at a railway station, Alora asked:

"Are we leaving town, then, father?"

"Yes, " he replied; "I am returning to New York. "

She felt a slight sinking of the heart, just then, but it was followedby a sense of elation. The old life, in which her adored mother hadplayed so prominent a part, was being abandoned forever, and thistroubled her, she knew not why. 

But since Mamma Tone had gone away the old life had lost its charm andbecome dull and stupid. Lory was not sure she could be happierelsewhere, but her crushed and dispirited nature responded to thesuggestion of change. It was interesting to have something different tolook forward to. 

The man beside her was no more congenial than Gorham had been, but hewas her father; he was the guardian selected by her dead mother, and inobeying his wishes she might find her future life more grateful thanhad been the dreadful dreary months since Mamma Tone had left her. 

Somehow, Jason Jones seemed uneasy in the presence of his daughter. During the journey to New York he rode most of the time in the smokingcompartment, only appearing to take Alora to the diner for her meals. The child was equally uncomfortable in her father's society and waswell pleased to be left so much alone. 

So, with very little questioning or conversation on either side, fatherand daughter came to their destination and Alora found herselfdeposited in a small suite of rooms on the third floor of a grimy anddingy house in East Sixty-seventh Street--one of a long row of similarhouses that were neither residences nor business establishments, buthovered between the two. There were several little tin signs nailedbeside the entrance and Lory noticed that one of these read: "JasonJones. Studio. 3rd Floor. " It was an old sign, scarcely legible, whileothers beside it seemed bright and new, and when the girl had climbedlaboriously up the three flights and the artist had unlocked the doorat the head of the stairs, with a key which he took from his pocket, she found everything about the rooms she entered as old and faded asthe sign on the door. 

CHAPTER VIN THE STUDIO

The fact that it was beginning to grow dark prevented Alora fromobserving all the tawdriness of her new home and what she saw inspiredher more with curiosity than dismay. The little girl had been rearedfrom babyhood in an atmosphere of luxury; through environment she hadbecome an aristocrat from the top of her head to the tips of her toes;this introduction to shabbiness was unique, nor could she yetunderstand that such surroundings were familiar to many who battle forexistence in a big city. The very fact that her father's humble flatwas "different" made it far more interesting to the child than newapartments such as she had been accustomed to. Therefore she had nothought, at this time, of protest. Her own little room contained asmall iron bed, one straight chair with a wooden bottom and abroken-legged dresser over which hung a cracked mirror. The small ragrug was worn threadbare. 

While she stood in the doorway of this room, solemnly regarding it, herfather said over her shoulder:

"You won't need both those big trunks here, I'm sure. I'll store themsomewhere in the studio. Covered with drapes, they won't be noticed. Ican't imagine what that woman packed them with. "

"My dresses, " replied Alora. "Even then, I left a lot at the Voltaire, for the maids to sell or give away. Mamma used to send them to theSalvation Army. "

"Two trunks of dresses ought to last for a good many years, " heremarked in a reflective tone. 

"Oh, no indeed, " said Lory. "Miss Gorham was about to engage adressmaker for me when--when--you said we'd go away. I'm growing fast, you know, and I was to have a dozen or fifteen summer frocks made, anda lot of lingerie. "

"Then we moved just in time to save that expense, " he declared, settinghis stern jaws together. "There's been a terrible waste of moneythrough that woman Gorham. We're well rid of her. "

He turned away to the studio and the child followed him there. Heturned on the electric lights, which were not very bright, and Aloratook a look at the workroom and thought it seemed more comfortable thanthe other rooms of the flat. 

Her father began dusting and arranging half a dozen paintings ofvarious sizes, mounted on stretchers. None was finished; some werescarcely begun. Lory tried to see what they represented. Perhaps shehad inherited from her mother a bit of artistic instinct; if so, it wasthat which prompted her to shrug her small shoulders slightly and thenturn away to the window. 

In the dimly lighted street outside a man drove up with the baggage. Mr. Jones had purchased for himself in Chicago a new trunk--a small andinexpensive one--and there were two big trunks and a suitcase belongingto Alora. After these had been carried up and placed in the studio--theonly room that would hold them--her father said:

"We will go out now and get some dinner. You won't need your coat, forthe restaurant is just around the corner. "

Alora marveled at the restaurant even more than at the studiofurnishings. It looked a hundred years old and the atmosphere stillretained the fumes of much ancient cookery. The linen was coarse, theplating worn from the forks and spoons through constant use, the dishesthick and clumsy and well nicked. Alora was hungry and she ate what herfather ordered for her, although she decided it did not taste verynice. 

When they sat down a man from behind the counter approached them andbending low said in a quiet tone:

"You know, Jones, it's to be a cash deal from now on. "

"Of course, " replied Alora's father, with a slight frown. "Also I'llpay you the old account, if you'll make out the bill. "

The man smiled, patted Alora's head--a liberty she indignantlyresented--and went back to his desk. 

During the meal and, indeed, ever since their arrival in New York, Jason Jones cast frequent puzzled glances into the face of his littledaughter, who until now had accepted her changed conditions withevident indifference. But as they ate together in silence her smallfeatures grew grave and thoughtful and her father shrank from meetingthe inquiring glances of her big eyes. Yet even now she made nocomplaint. Neither did she ask questions. Her look was expectant, however, and that was what embarrassed him. 

After the dinner they went back to the dingy studio, where the manlighted a pipe and sat opposite his small daughter, puffing uneasily. They were both reserved; there was an indefinable barrier between themwhich each was beginning to recognize. Presently Alora asked to go tobed and he sent her to her room with a nod of relief. 

Next morning they had breakfast at the same stuffy little restaurantand afterward Alora unpacked some things from her trunks and put themin the drawers of the broken-legged dresser. It seemed odd to have nomaid to wait upon her, but she was glad to have something to do. As shepassed to and from the studio she noticed that her father had resumedwork on a picture that represented two cows eating a broken pumpkinthat lay in a cornfield. He worked slowly and never seemed satisfiedwith what he did, as if lacking confidence in his ability. Lory decidedhe couldn't be blamed for that. 

The child plodded drearily along in her new life for a full week. Thenshe began to grow restless, for the place was hateful and repulsive toher. But now an incident occurred that gave her new cause for wonder. 

One day the door opened and a woman walked into the studio. It wasJanet Orme, her mother's former nurse, but what a new and astonishingJanet it was! Her silken gown was very "fashionable, " somewhat toomodish for good taste, for it was elaborately trimmed and embroidered. She wore considerable jewelry, including diamonds; her shoes wereelegant and her hose daintily clocked; her hat must have been a Frenchmilliner's choicest creation. If good clothes could make Janet Orme alady, there was no question of her social standing, yet even littleAlora felt that Janet was out of her element--that she fell short, insome vague way, of being what she was ambitious to appear. 

"So, " said the nurse, glancing around the room with frank disdain, "this is where you hang out, Jason, is it?"

Alora's father confronted the woman with a menacing frown. 

"What do you mean by coming here?" he demanded. 

"I had two reasons, " she answered carelessly, seating herself in theonly easy chair the room contained. "In the first place, I wanted tosee how a rich man lives. "

"Well, you see, don't you?" a muttering growl. 

"I certainly do, and I realize you are quite comfortable and ought tobe happy here, Jason--you and the millionaire heiress, your daughterAlora. "

As she spoke she turned to glance sharply at the child, who met herlook with disconcerting gravity. Alora's eyes expressed wonder, tingedwith a haughty tolerance of an inferior that struck home to Janet andmade her flush angrily. 

"Your sneers, " said Jason Jones, still frowning but now speaking withcomposure, "must indicate that you have graduated from servitude. Icannot admit that my mode of living is any of your business, Janet. Inthese retired but respectable rooms I have worked and been contentedfor years, until----"

"Until you came into your money and found you didn't have to worry overyour next meal, " she interjected. "Well, that ought to make you stillmore content. And that reminds me of the second object of my visit. Iwant some money. "

"So soon?"

"Don't try to crawfish; it was agreed you should give me a checkwhenever I asked for it. I want it now, and for the full amount--everysingle penny of it!"

He stared at her fixedly, seeming fearful and uncertain how to answer. 

"I cannot spare it all today. "

"Humbug!" she snapped. "You can and will spare it. I must have themoney, or----"

Her significant pause caused him to wriggle in his seat. 

"You're a miserly coward, " she declared. "I'm not robbing you; you willhave an abundance for your needs. Why do you quarrel with Dame Fortune?Don't you realize you can pay your rent now and eat three square mealsa day, and not have to work and slave for them? You can smoke a goodcigar after your dinner, instead of that eternal pipe, and go to apicture show whenever the mood strikes you. Why, man, you'reindependent for the first time in your life, and the finances are assure as shooting for a good seven years to come. "

He glanced uneasily at Alora. 

"Owing to my dead wife's generosity, " he muttered. 

Janet laughed. 

"Of course, " said she; "and, if you play your cards skillfuly, whenAlora comes of age she will provide for you an income for the rest ofyour life. You're in luck. And why? Just because you are Jason Jonesand long ago married Antoinette Seaver and her millions and are nowreaping your reward! So, for decency's sake, don't grumble aboutwriting me that check. "

All this was frankly said in the presence of Alora Jones, the heiress, of whose person and fortune, her father, Jason Jones, was now soleguardian. It was not strange that the man seemed annoyed and ill atease. His scowl grew darker and his eyes glinted in an ugly way as hereplied, after a brief pause:

"You seem to have forgotten Alora's requirements and my duty to her. "

"Pooh, a child! But we've allowed liberally for her keep, I'm sure. Shecan't keep servants and three dressmakers, it's true, but a simple lifeis best for her. She'll grow up a more sensible and competent woman bywaiting on herself and living; as most girls do. At her age I didn'thave shoes or stockings. Alora has been spoiled, and a bit of worldlyexperience will do her good. "

"She's going to be very rich, when she comes into her fortune, " saidAlora's father, "and then----"

"And then she can do as she likes with her money. Just now her incomeis too big for her needs, and the best thing you can do for her is toteach her economy--a virtue you seem to possess, whether by nature ortraining, in a high degree. But I didn't come here to argue. Give methat check. "

He walked over to his little desk, sat down and drew a check book fromhis pocket. 

Alora, although she had listened intently to the astonishingconversation, did not quite comprehend what it meant. Janet's harshstatement bewildered her as much as did her father's subjectsubservience to the woman. All she realized was that Janet Orme, herdead mother's nurse, wanted money--Alora's money--and her father wasreluctant to give it to her but dared not refuse. Money was an abstractquantity to the eleven year old child; she had never handled itpersonally and knew nothing of its value. If her father owed Janet someof her money, perhaps it was for wages, or services rendered hermother, and Alora was annoyed that he haggled about it, even though thewoman evidently demanded more than was just. There was plenty of money, she believed, and it was undignified to argue with a servant. 

Jason Jones wrote the check and, rising, handed it to Janet. 

"There, " said he, "that squares our account. It is what I agreed togive you, but I did not think you would demand it so soon. To pay itjust now leaves me in an embarrassing position. "

"I don't believe it, " she rejoined. "You're cutting coupons every monthor so, and you may thank your stars I don't demand a statement of yourincome. But I know you, Jason Jones, and you can't hoodwink me, try asyou may. You hid yourself in this hole and thought I wouldn't knowwhere to find you, but you'll soon learn that you can't escape my eagleeye. So take your medicine like a man, and thank your lucky stars thatyou're no longer a struggling, starving, unrecognized artist. Good-byeuntil I call again. "

"You're not to call again!" he objected. 

"Well, we'll see. Just for the present I'm in no mood to quarrel withyou, and you'd better not quarrel with _me, _ Jason Jones. Good-bye. "

She tucked the check into her purse and ambled out of the room after asupercilious nod to Alora, who failed to return the salutation. JasonJones stood in his place, still frowning, until Janet's high-heeledshoes had clattered down the two flights of stairs. Alora went to thewindow and looking down saw that a handsome automobile stood before thehouse, with a chauffeur and footman in livery. Janet entered thisautomobile and was driven away. 

Alora turned to look at her father. He was filing his pipe and scowlingmore darkly than ever. 

CHAPTER VIFLITTING

Once more they moved suddenly, and the second flitting came about inthis way:

Alora stood beside the easel one morning, watching her father work onhis picture. Not that she was especially interested in him or thepicture, but there was nothing else for her to do. She stood with herslim legs apart, her hands clasped behind her, staring rather vacantly, when he looked up and noted her presence. 

"Well, what do you think of it?" he asked rather sharply. 

"Of the picture?" said Lory. 

"Of course. "

"I don't like it, " she asserted, with childish frankness. 

"Eh? You don't like it? Why not, girl?"

"Well, " she replied, her eyes narrowing critically, "that cow's hornisn't on straight--the red cow's left horn. And it's the same size, allthe way up. "

He laid down his palette and brush and gazed at his picture for a longtime. The scowl came on his face again. Usually his face was stolid andexpressionless, but Alora had begun to observe that whenever anythingirritated or disturbed him he scowled, and the measure of the scowlindicated to what extent he was annoyed. When he scowled at his ownunfinished picture Lory decided he was honest enough to agree with hercriticism of it. 

Finally the artist took a claspknife from his pocket, opened the bladeand deliberately slashed the picture from top to bottom, this way andthat, until it was a mere mass of shreds. Then he kicked the stretcherinto a corner and brought out another picture, which he placed on theeasel. 

"Well, how about that?" he asked, looking hard at it himself. 

Alora was somewhat frightened at having caused the destruction of thecow picture. So she hesitated before replying: "I--I'd rather not say. "

"How funny!" he said musingly, "but until now I never realized howstiff and unreal the daub is. Shall I finish it, Alora?"

"I think so, sir, " she answered. 

Again the knife slashed through the canvas and the remains joined thescrap-heap in the corner. 

Jason Jones was not scowling any more. Instead, there was a hint of ahumorous expression on his usually dull features. Only pausing to lighthis pipe, he brought out one after another of his canvases and after acritical look destroyed each and every one. 

Lory was perplexed at the mad act, for although her judgment told herthey were not worth keeping, she realized that her father must havepassed many laborious hours on them. But now that it had dawned on himhow utterly inartistic his work was, in humiliation and disgust he hadwiped it out of existence. With this thought in mind, the girl washonestly sorry him. 

But Jason Jones did not seem sorry. When the last ruined canvas hadbeen contemptuously flung into the corner he turned to the child andsaid to her in a voice so cheerful that it positively startled her:

"Get your hat and let's take a walk. An artist's studio is no place forus, Lory. Doesn't it seem deadly dull in here? And outside the sun isshining!"

The rest of the day he behaved much like a human being. He took thegirl to the park to see the zoo, and bought her popcorn and peanuts--awild extravagance, for him. Later in the day they went to a pictureshow and finally entered a down-town restaurant, quite different fromand altogether better than the one where they had always before eaten, and enjoyed a really good dinner. When they left the restaurant he wasstill in the restless and reckless mood that had dominated him andsaid:

"Suppose we go to a theatre? Won't you like that better than you wouldreturning to our poky rooms?"

"Yes, indeed, " responded Alora. 

They had seats in the gallery, but could see very well. Just before thecurtain rose Alora noticed a party being seated in one of the boxes. The lady nearest the rail, dressed in an elaborate evening gown, wasJanet Orme. There was another lady with her, conspicuous for blondehair and much jewelry, and the two gentlemen who accompanied them keptin the background, as if not too proud of their company. 

Alora glanced at her father's face and saw the scowl there, for he, too, had noted the box-party. But neither of the two made any remarkand soon the child was fully absorbed in the play. 

As they left the theatre Janet's party was entering an automobile, laughing and chatting gaily. Both father and daughter silently watchedthem depart, and then they took a street car and went home. 

"Get to bed, girl, " said Jason Jones, when they had mounted the stairs. "I'll smoke another pipe, I guess. "

When she came out of her room next morning she heard her fatherstirring in the studio. She went to him and was surprised to find himpacking his trunk, which he had drawn into the middle of the room. 

"Now that you're up, " said he in quite a cheerful tone, "we'll go tobreakfast, and then I'll help you pack your own duds. Only one trunk, though, girl, for the other must go into storage and you may see itagain, some time, and you may not. "

"Are we going away?" she inquired, hoping it might be true. 

"We are. We're going a long way, my girl. Do you care?"

"Of course, " said she, amazed at the question, for he had neverconsidered her in the least. "I'm glad. I don't like your studio. "

He laughed, and the laugh shocked her. She could not remember ever tohave heard Jason Jones laugh before. 

"I don't like the place, either, girl, and that's why I'm leaving it. For good, this time. I was a fool to return here. In trying toeconomise, I proved extravagant. "

Alora did not reply to that. She was eager to begin packing and hurriedthrough her breakfast. All the things she might need on a journey sheput into one trunk. She was not quite sure what she ought to take, andher father was still more ignorant concerning a little girl's wardrobe, but finally both trunks were packed and locked and then Mr. Jonescalled a wagon and carted away the extra trunk of Alora's and severalboxes of his own to be deposited in a storage warehouse. 

She sat in the bare studio and waited for his return. The monotony ofthe past weeks, which had grown oppressive, was about to end and forthis she was very grateful. For from a life of luxury the child hadbeen dumped into a gloomy studio in the heart of a big, bustling citythat was all unknown to her and where she had not a single friend oracquaintance. Her only companion had been a strange man who happened tobe her father but displayed no affection for her, no spark of interestin her happiness or even comforts. For the first time in her life shelacked a maid to dress her and keep her clothes in order; there was noone to attend to her education, no one to amuse her, no one with whomto counsel in any difficulty. She had been somewhat afraid of herpeculiar father and her natural reserve, derived from her mother, haddeepened in his society. Yesterday and this morning he had seemed morehuman, more companionable, yet Alora felt that it was due to a selfishelation and recognized a gulf between them that might never be bridged. Her father differed utterly from her mother in breeding, inintelligence, in sympathy. He was not of the same world; even the childcould realize that. And yet, he was her father--all she had left todepend upon, to cling to. She wondered if he really possessed the goodqualities her mother had attributed to him. If so, when she knew himbetter, she might learn to like him. 

He was gone a long time, it seemed, but as soon as he returned theremaining baggage was loaded on the wagon and sent away and then theyleft the flat and boarded a street car for down town. On lower BroadwayMr. Jones entered a bank and seemed to transact considerable business. Lory saw him receive several papers and a lot of money. Then they wentto a steamship office near by, where her father purchased tickets. 

Afterward they had lunch, and Jason Jones was still in high spirits andseemed more eager and excited than Alora had ever before known him. 

"We're going across the big water--to Europe, " he told her at luncheon, "so if there is anything you positively need for the trip, tell me whatit is and I'll buy it. No frivolities, though, " qualifying hisgenerosity, "but just stern necessities. And you must think quick, forour boat leaves at four o'clock and we've no time to waste. "

But Alora shook her head. Once she had been taken by her mother toLondon, Paris and Rome, but all her wants had been attended to and itwas so long ago--four or five years--that that voyage was now but a dimremembrance. 

No one noticed them when they went aboard. There was no one to see themoff or to wish them "bon voyage. " It saddened the child to hear thefervent good-byes of others, for it emphasized her own loneliness. 

Yes, quite friendless was little Alora. She was going to a foreign landwith no companion but a strange and uncongenial man whom fate hadimposed upon her in the guise of a parent. As they steamed out to seaand Alora sat on deck and watched the receding shores of America, sheturned to her father with the first question she had ventured to ask:

"Where are we going? To London?"

"Not now, " he replied. "This ship is bound for the port of Naples. Ididn't pick Naples, you know, but took the first ship sailing to-day. Having made up my mind to travel, I couldn't wait, " he added, with achuckle of glee. "You're not particular as to where we go, are you?"

"No, " said Alora. 

"That's lucky, " he rejoined, "for it wouldn't have made any difference, anyhow. "

CHAPTER VIIMARY LOUISE INTRUDES

It was four years later when on a sunny afternoon in April a carriagebroke down on the Amalfi Road, between Positano and Sorrento, in Italy. A wheel crumpled up and the driver stopped his horses and explained tohis passengers in a jumble of mixed Italian and English that he couldgo no farther. The passengers, an old gentleman of distinguishedappearance and a young girl as fresh and lovely as a breath of spring, clambered out of the rickety vehicle and after examining the wheeladmitted that their driver spoke truly. On one side the road was asteep descent to the sea; opposite, the hillside was masked by atrellis thick with grapevines. The road curved around the mountain, sothere was no other vista. 

"Here's a nice fix, Gran'pa Jim!" exclaimed the girl, with an amusedlaugh. "Where are we and what's going to become of us?"

"That is somewhat of a complicated problem, Mary Louise, and I can'tguess it offhand, without due reflection, " replied "Gran'pa Jim, " whomothers called Colonel Hathaway. "I imagine, however, that we are aboutthree miles from Positano and five or six from Sorrento, and it's astiff walk, for old legs or young, in either direction. Besides, there's our luggage, which I am loth to abandon and disinclined tocarry. "

The driver interposed. 

"Give-a me the moment, Signore--perhaps the hour--an' I return toPositano for more carriage-wheel--some other. My Cousin L'uigi, heleeve in Positano, an' L'uigi have a-many carriage-wheel in he's shed. I sure, Signore, I getta the wheel. "

"That is a sensible idea, " said the old gentleman. "Make haste, my man, and we will wait here. "

The driver unhitched his horses from the vehicle and after strapping ablanket on one of them for a saddle mounted it and departed. 

"I take-a the two horse, " he explained, "for one to ride-a me, an' onefor to ride-a the wheel. "

They watched him amble away down the road and Mary Louise shook herhead and remarked:

"He will never make it in an hour, at that rate, Gran'pa Jim, and intwo hours the sun will have set and it will be dinner time. Already Ifeel the pangs of hunger. "

"Those who travel in Italy, " said her grandfather, "should be preparedto accept any happening in a spirit of resignation. A moment ago wewere jogging merrily along toward a good hotel and a savory dinner, butnow----"

"This entire carriage seems ready to fall apart, " declared the girl, standing in the road and viewing the ancient vehicle critically; "soit's a wonder something didn't break sooner. Now, if we could get tothe other side of that trellis, Gran'pa Jim, we might find a shady spotto rest while our charioteer is searching for a new wheel. "

"There must be a gate, somewhere about, " he answered, eyeing thevine-clad barrier. "Come, Mary Louise, let us investigate. "

A hundred yards down the road they came to some rude stone steps and awicket. The old gentleman lifted the wooden latch and found the gateunlocked. Followed by Mary Louise, he entered the vineyard anddiscovered a narrow, well-beaten path leading up the hillside. 

"Perhaps there is a house near by, " said the girl. "Shall we go on, Gran'pa Jim?"

"Why not, my dear? These Italians are hospitable folk and we may get acake and a cup of goat's milk to stay our appetite. "

So they climbed the hill, following the little path, and presently cameupon a laborer who was very deliberately but methodically cultivatingthe vines with a V-shaped hoe. Seeing the strangers the manstraightened up and, leaning upon his hoe, eyed them with evidentsuspicion. 

"Good afternoon, " said the old gentleman in Italian--one of the fewphrases in the language he had mastered. 

"Oh, I speak the English, Signore, " replied the man, doffing his hat. "I am Silvio Allegheri, you must know, and I live in America sometime. "

"Why, this is like meeting an old friend!" exclaimed Mary Louise, winning the fellow instantly with her smile. "But why did you leaveAmerica, Silvio?"

"Because I have make my fortune there, " was the solemn reply. "It iseasy to make the fortune in America, Signorina. I am chef in therestaurant in Sandusky--you know Sandusky?--most excellent! In a fewyears I save much money, then I return here an' purchase an estate. Myestate is three miles across the hill, yonder, and there is a road toit which is not much used. However, it is a fine estate, an' I am rentit to my cousin for five hundred lira a year. Such good business habitI learn in America. "

"Why don't you live on your estate yourself?" inquired the girl. 

"It is not yet the time, " answered the man, with a shake of his head. "I am but fifty-two years alive, and while I am still so young I shallwork for others, and save the money my estate brings me. When I get oldand can no longer work for the others, then I will go to my estate an'be happy. "

"Very sensible, " commented the old gentleman. "And whom do you work fornow?"

"The student Americano, Signore; the one who has rented this valuableestate. I am the Signore Student's valet, his gardener, and at timeshis chef. I grease his automobile, which is a very small chug-chug, butrespectable, and I clean his shoes--when I can catch him with them off. I am valuable to him and for three years he has paid me fair wages. "

"Is this a big estate?" asked Mary Louise. 

"Enormous, Signorina. It comprises three acres!"

"And where is the house?"

"Just over the hill, yonder, Signore. 

"Does the student Americano live here all alone?"

"With his daughter, who is the Signorina Alora. "

"Oh; there is a daughter, then? And you say they are Americans?"

"Surely, Signorina. Who else would pay the great price for this estatefor three years? The land pays nothing back--a few oranges; somegrapes, when they are cared for; a handful of almonds and olives. Andthere is a servant besides myself, my niece Leona, who is housemaid andassists the young lady. "

"This sounds promising, " said Mary Louise, turning to her grandfather. "Suppose we go up to the house? Are the people at home, Silvio?--theSignore Student and his daughter?"

The man reflected, leaning on his hoe. 

"I think they are both at the mansion, Signorina, although the studentAmericano may not yet have returned from Sorrento. The road to themansion is beyond the hill, on the other side of the estate, so I amnot sure the Signore Student has returned. But you will find theSignorina Alora there, if you decide to venture on. But perhaps you arethe friends of my employer and his daughter?"

"What is his name?" asked Colonel Hathaway. 

"It is Jones. The American saying is Mister Jason Jones, but here he isonly called the Signore Student Americano. "

"Why?" asked Mary Louise. 

"Because his occupation is reading. He does nothing else. Always thereis a book in his hand and always he is thinking of the things he reads. He does not often speak, even to his daughter; he does not have friendswho visit him. If you should call at the mansion, then you will be thefirst people who have done so for three years. "

There was something in this report--in the manner of the man as well ashis words--that caused the strangers to hesitate. The description of"the Student" led them to suspect he was a recluse who might notwelcome them cordially, but Mary Louise reflected that there was adaughter and decided that any American girl shut up on this three-acre"estate" for three years would be glad to meet another American girl. So she said abruptly:

"Come on, Gran'pa Jim. Let's call. It is possible that Americans willhave something better in the larder than cakes and goat's milk. "

The hilltop was reached sooner than they expected, and in a little valewas the old mansion--a really attractive vine-clad villa that mighthave stood a century or so. It was not very big, but there werenumerous outbuildings which rendered the size of the house properunimportant. As Mary Louise and her grandfather drew nearer theydiscovered a charming flower garden, carefully tended, and were notsurprised to find a young girl bending over a rosebush. 

CHAPTER VIIIMARY LOUISE MEETS ALORA

The two stood motionless a moment, looking at the girl, and Mary Louisemarked the graceful figure and attractive features with real delight. The Signorina Alora, as the man had called her, was nearly her ownage--fifteen, Mary Louise judged her to be--and her golden hair and faircomplexion proclaimed her an American. But now the girl's quick earshad detected presence, and she looked up with a startled expression, half fearful and half shy, and turned as if to fly. But in the nextmoment she had collected herself and advanced with hesitating steps tomeet them. 

"Pardon our intrusion, " said Colonel Hathaway, raising his hat. "Ourcarriage broke down on the Amalfi road, a little while ago, and ourdriver has gone to Positano for a new wheel. Meantime we were exploringour surroundings and stumbled upon the path leading to this spot. Forgive the trespass, if you will, and allow me to present mygranddaughter, Mary Louise Burrows. I am Colonel James Hathaway, of NewYork, although we usually reside at a little town called Dorfield. "

The girl's bow was stiff and awkward. She blushed in an embarrassed wayas she replied:

"I am Alora Jones, sir, and am living here for a time with my father, Jason Jones. We, also, are Americans; at least, we used to be. "

"Then doubtless you are yet, " responded the Colonel, with a smile. "Maywe pay our respects to your father?"

"He--he is not home yet, " she answered more embarrassed than before. "He went to Sorrento for some books, this morning, and has not yetreturned. But perhaps he will be back soon, " she added, seeming toponder the matter. "Will you not come in and--and have somerefreshment? In my father's absence I--I am glad to--welcome you. "

She glanced shyly at Mary Louise, as if to implore her to forgive anyseeming lack of hospitality and accept her coldly worded invitation. Noone could look at Mary Louise without gaining confidence and thefriendly smile and warm handclasp made Alora feel instantly that herewas a girl who would prove congenial under any circumstances. Really, it would not take them long to become friends, and poor Alora had nogirl friends whatever. 

She led them into a cool and comfortable living room and called toLeona to fetch tea and biscuits. 

"We are entirely shut in, here, " she explained. "It seems to me worsethan a convent, for there I would see other girls while here I see noone but the servants--and my father, " as an afterthought, "year in andyear out. "

"It's a pretty place, " declared Mary Louise cheerfully. 

"But it's an awfully dreary place, too, and sometimes I feel that I'dlike to run away--if I knew where to go, " said Alora frankly. 

"You have lived here three years?" asked Colonel Hathaway. 

"Yes. We left New York more than four years ago and traveled a year indifferent places, always stopping at the little towns, where there isnot much to interest one. Then my father found this place and rentedit, and here we've stayed--I can't say 'lived'--ever since. I get alongpretty well in the daytime, with my flowers and the chickens to tend, but the evenings are horribly lonely. Sometimes I feel that I shall gomad. "

Mary Louise marked her wild look and excited manner and her heart wentout in sympathy to the lonely girl. Colonel Hathaway, too, intuitivelyrecognized Alora's plaint as a human cry for help, and did not need toguess the explanation. The man in the vineyard had called her father"the Student" and said he was a reserved man and never was seen withouta book in his hand. This would mean that he was not companionable andAlora's protest plainly indicated that her father devoted small time, if any, to the cultivation of his daughter's society. 

"I suppose, " remarked the old gentleman, "that Mr. Jones is so immersedin his studies that he forgets his daughter lacks society amamusement. "

Mary Louise caught the slight, scornful smile that for a moment curledAlora's lips. But the girl replied very seriously:

"My father dislikes society. I believe he would be quite content tolive in this little cooped-up place forever and see no one but theservants, to whom he seldom speaks. Also, he ignores me, and I am gladhe does. But before my mother died, " her voice breaking a little, "Iwas greatly loved and petted, and I can't get used to the change. Iought not to say this to strangers, I know, but I am very lonely andunhappy, because--because my father is so different from what my motherwas. "

Mary Louise was holding her trembling hand now and stroking itsympathetically. 

"Tell us about your mother, " she said softly. "Is it long since youlost her?"

"More than four years, " returned Alora. "I was her constant companionand she taught me to love art and music and such things, for art washer hobby. I did not know my father in those days, you see, for--for--they did not live together. But in her last illness mamma sent for himand made him my guardian. My mother said that my father would love me, but she must have misjudged him. "

Colonel Hathaway had listened with interest. 

"Tell me your mother's name, " said he. 

"She was Mrs. Antoinette Seaver Jones, and--"

"Indeed!" exclaimed the Colonel. "Why, I knew Antoinette Seaver beforeshe married, and a more beautiful and cultured woman I never met. Herfather, Captain Seaver, was my friend, and I met his daughter severaltimes, both at his mining camp and in the city. So you see, my dear, wemust be friends. "

Alora's eyes fairly glistened with delight and Mary Louise was aspleased as she was surprised. 

"Of course we're friends!" she cried, pressing the girl's hand, "andisn't it queer we have come together in this singular manner? In aforeign country! And just because our carriage-wheel happened tobreak. "

"I thought your mother married an artist, " said Mary Louise'sgrandfather, reflectively. 

"She did. At least, she _thought_ Jason Jones was an artist, " answeredAlora with bitter emphasis. "But he was, in fact, a mere dauber. Hebecame discouraged in his attempts to paint and soon after he took meto New York he destroyed all his work--really, it was dreadful!--andsince then he has never touched a brush. "

"That is strange, " mused the Colonel. "I once saw a landscape by JasonJones that was considered a fine conception, skillfully executed. Thatwas the opinion of so good a judge as Captain Seaver himself. Therefore, for some reason the man's genius must have forsaken him. "

"I think that is true, " agreed Alora, "for my mother's estimate of artwas undoubtedly correct. I have read somewhere that discouragementsometimes destroys one's talent, though in after years, with properimpulse, it may return with added strength. In my father's case, " sheexplained, "he was not able to sell his work--and no wonder. So now hedoes nothing at all but read, and even that doesn't seem to amuse himmuch. "

The Colonel had now remembered that Antoinette Seaver Jones was a womanof great wealth, and therefore her daughter must be an heiress. What ashame to keep the girl hidden in this out-of-the-way place, when sheshould be preparing to assume an important position in the world. 

"May I ask your age, my dear?" he said. 

"I am fifteen, sir, " replied Alora. 

"And your father is the guardian of your fortune?"

"Yes; by my mother's wish. "

"I suppose you are receiving proper instruction?"

"None at all, sir. Since I have been in my father's care I have had noinstruction whatever. That isn't right, is it?"

"What isn't right?" demanded a gruff voice, and all three turned tofind Jason Jones standing in the doorway. 

CHAPTER IXMARY LOUISE SCENTS A MYSTERY

Colonel Hathaway instantly rose. 

"I beg your pardon, " said he. "I am Colonel James Hathaway, anAmerican, and this is my granddaughter, Mary Louise Burrows. Ourcarriage met with an accident on the main road below and we wandered inhere while waiting for repairs and chanced to meet your daughter. Youare Mr. Jones, I believe?"

He nodded, still standing in his place and regarding his visitors withunconcealed suspicion. Under his arm he held several books. 

"Who informed you that I was living here?" he demanded. 

"I was wholly unaware of the fact, " said the Colonel, stiffly. "I didnot know you were in Italy. I did not know such an important personexisted, strange to say, although I can remember that an artist namedJason Jones once married Antoinette Seaver, the daughter of my oldfriend Captain Robert Seaver. "

"Oh, you remember that, do you?"

"This is the first time I have had the distinguished honor of meetingyou, sir, and I trust it will be the last time. "

"That's all right, " said Jason Jones, more cordially. "I can't see thatit's any of my affair, either way. "

"We have been making the acquaintance of Tony Seaver's daughter, MissAlora Jones, in your absence. But we will not intrude farther, Mr. Jones. Come, Mary Louise. "

"Oh, don't go!" pleaded Alora, catching Mary Louise's arm. And justthen Leona entered with the tea and biscuits. 

"Sit down, man, " said Jason Jones in a less aggressive tone. "I've noobjection to your coming here, under the circumstances, and you are ourfirst visitors in three years. That's often enough, but now that youare here, make yourself at home. What's happening over in America? Haveyou been there lately?"

He laid his books on a table and sat down. But after that one speech, which he perhaps considered conciliatory, he remained glum and allowedthe others to do the talking. 

Colonel Hathaway had stayed because he noted the leading look in MaryLouise's eyes. He was himself interested in Alora and indignant overher evident neglect. For her sake he would bear the insolence of hishost, an insolence he recognized as characteristic of the man. 

Alora, in her father's presence, lost her fluent speech and no longerdared mention personal matters to her guests. Both Mary Louise and hergrandfather tried to lead Alora and Jason Jones to speak ofthemselves--of their life and future plans--but the man evaded directanswers and the girl had suddenly become silent and reserved. 

Finally, however, Mary Louise had an idea. 

"We are bound for Sorrento, " said she, "where we intend to stay a weekat the Hotel Vittoria. Will you let Alora come to us for ever Sunday, as our guest? We will drive here and get her the day after to-morrow--that's Saturday, you know--and fetch her home on Monday. "

"No, " said Jason Jones. 

"Oh, why not, father?" pleaded the girl. 

"You've no fit clothes. I don't want you hanging around Sorrento, " hereplied. 

"It will be a nice change for your daughter and it will give us muchpleasure to entertain her, " said Mary Louise. 

"It's a capital idea, " declared the Colonel positively, and looking theother man straight in the eye he added: "I am sure you will withdrawyour objections, Mr. Jones. "

The man dropped his eyes, frowning. But presently he said to Alora:

"Go, if you want to. But keep out of the town. Don't leave the hotelgrounds. "

"Why not?" asked his daughter in a defiant tone. 

"It's not safe. I know Sorrento, and these rascally Italians would beglad to steal you, if they had the chance, and then blackmail me aransom. "

Mary Louise laughed. 

"What a fine adventure that would be!" she exclaimed. "But we willpromise to guard Alora and keep her from the clutches of bandits. Ididn't know there were any left in Italy. "

"To get rid of them you'd have to depopulate the country, " said JasonJones. "It is no laughing matter, young woman, and--my daughter issomewhat valuable. "

CHAPTER XMERE SPECULATION

The driver returned with the wheel. It fitted the axle but was some twoor three inches larger in diameter than the other rear wheel and, moreover, it was flat on one side, so that when they started toconclude their journey the motion of the carriage was somethingstartling--a "rock-a-bye baby ride" Mary Louise called it. 

But the wheels turned and the carriage progressed and when they werewell on their way the girl said:

"What do you think of that man, Gran'pa Jim?"

"Do you mean Alora's father, Jason Jones?"

"Yes, of course. "

"I am surprised at two things, " said the old Colonel. "First, it iscurious that Tony Seaver, a rarely cultured woman, should have marriedsuch a man, and again it is amazing that she should have confided herdaughter and her fortune to his care. "

"Do you know, " observed Mary Louise, sliding closer to him and droppingher voice, although there was absolutely no chance of being overheard, "I scent a mystery in that family, Gran'pa Jim!"

"That seems to be one of your regular diversions--to scent mysteries, "he replied. "And usually, my dear, the suspicion is unwarranted. Themost commonplace people frequently impress you with the idea that theyare other than what they seem, are leading double lives, or areendeavoring to conceal some irregularity of conduct. You've a facultyof reading the natures and characteristics of strangers by studyingtheir eyes, their facial expressions and their oddities of demeanor, which is interesting psychologically but too often----"

"You are unjust, Gran'pa!" declared Mary Louise indignantly. "Didn'tyou yourself say there are two curious and surprising things about thisman Jones?"

"Not exactly. I said it was curious and astonishing that AntoinetteSeaver should have trusted so fully a man who impresses me as a churl. His own child, little Alora, appears to dislike and even to despisehim, and----"

"There!" cried Mary Louise. "I'm vindicated. Your observations fullyjustify my remark that there's a mystery in that family. Did you noticethe books he brought home and laid upon the table?"

"No, " said Colonel Hathaway, rather bewildered. 

"They were novels by Marie Correlli, H. G. Wells and O. Henry. Astudent? Then a student of modern novels, a man who reads and reads tokeep his mind from dwelling on past history. He is a disappointedartist, to begin with. "

"That is certainly odd, " rejoined the old gentleman, reflectively. "Theone picture I ever saw by Jason Jones was certainly good. I rememberthat once when I was lunching with Bob Seaver--that was Antoinette'sfather, you know--he told me his daughter was interested in a youngartist of exceptional talent, and he took me to a gallery to show mewhat this man could do. I am not an art critic, as you are aware, mydear, but this landscape of Jason Jones appealed to me as delightful. Captain Bob knew art, and so did Antoinette, so it is evident thatJones _could_ paint, but for some reason became dissatisfied with hiswork and abandoned it. Perhaps his ambition was too lofty for humanskill to realize, yet nothing less would content him. "

Mary Louise sat silent for a while. Then she asked:

"Did Jason Jones impress you as a man capable of a great ambition?Would you guess him an artist who had once accomplished admirablethings?"

"Artists are always peculiar, " stated her grandfather. "They must betemperamental in order to be artists, and temperaments differ widely. Had I not known something of Jason Jones' history I might have felt, onmaking his acquaintance to-day, that he is not an ordinary man. For, gruff and churlish though he proved, it is undeniable that he hasselected a charming and retired spot in which to live----"

"Or to hide, " she interrupted. 

"Or that, with considerable wealth at his command, he lives simply andunostentatiously, enjoying nature's choice gifts and content with thesimple life he leads, with only the society of his young daughter. "

"Whom he neglects and refuses to educate properly, " declared the girl. "What makes you think he is wealthy?"

"I know that Antoinette made millions, after her father died, from themines. By current report she retired and invested her money wisely, insound securities, which accords with her excellent business reputation. Her daughter not being of age--let me see: she must have been buteleven when her mother passed away--there would be a guardian appointedfor the heiress, and Alora told us that it was her mother's wish thather father act as her guardian. So the conclusion is evident that Mr. Jones has a large income at his command. "

"All the more reason he should be generous, but he isn't spending muchof it, " said Mary Louise. 

"No; he is probably living simply in order that his daughter's fortunemay increase during the years of her minority. That is a point in hisfavor, you must admit. "

"Nevertheless, " asserted the young girl, "I think there is somethingwrong in the Jones family. It isn't due to Alora; she's a dear littlething, wild and untamed but very lovable, I'm sure; so the fault mustlie with her boorish father. Allowing that once he was a big man, something has mysteriously soured him and rendered his life hateful notonly to himself but to all around him. "

"Look, Mary Louise; we're getting into Sorrento, " said the Colonel. "Here the road leaves the sea and crosses the plateau to the town. You'll like Sorrento, I'm sure, for it is one of the quaintest placesin old Italy--and the hotel is really comfortable. "

CHAPTER XIALORA SPEAKS FRANKLY

On Saturday forenoon the Colonel engaged a carriage--a substantial one, this time--and with Mary Louise drove to Jason Jones' villa, so thatAlora might return with them in time for lunch. They did not see theartist, who was somewhere about the grounds but kept out of view; butAlora was ready and waiting, her cheeks flushed and her eyes alight, and she slipped her foreign little straw satchel in the carriage andthen quickly followed it, as if eager to be off. 

"Father is rather disagreeable this morning, " she asserted in a sharpvoice, when they were on the highway to Sorrento. "He repented hisdecision to let me go with you and almost forbade me. But I rebelled, and----" she paused; "I have found that when I assert myself I canusually win my way, for father is a coward at heart. "

It pained Mary Louise to hear so unfilial a speech from the lips of ayoung girl. Colonel Hathaway's face showed that he, too, considered itunmannerly to criticise a parent in the presence of strangers. But bothreflected that Alora's life and environments were unenviable and thatshe had lacked, in these later years at least, the careful training dueone in her station in society. So they deftly changed the subject andled the girl to speak of Italy and its delightful scenery and romantichistory. Alora knew little of the country outside of the Sorrentopeninsula, but her appreciation of nature was artistic and innatelytrue and she talked well and interestingly of the surrounding countryand the quaint and amusing customs of its inhabitants. 

"How long do you expect to remain here?" asked Mary Louise. 

"I've no idea, " was the reply. "Father seems entirely satisfied withour quarters, for he has no ambition in life beyond eating three simplemeals a day, sleeping from nine at night until nine in the morning andreading all the romances he is able to procure. He corresponds with noone save his banker in America and sees no one but the servants and me. But to me the monotony of our existence is fast becoming unbearable andI often wonder if I can stand it for three years longer--until I'meighteen. Then I shall be my own mistress and entitled to handle my ownmoney, and you may rest assured I shall make up for lost time. "

They let that remark pass, also, but later in the afternoon, whenluncheon was over and the two girls were wandering in the lovelygardens of the Hotel Vittoria, while the Colonel indulged in anafternoon siesta, Mary Louise led Alora to speak freely of her pastlife. 

"My grandfather says that your mother must have left you a good deal ofmoney, " she remarked. 

"Yes; mamma told me it was a large fortune and that I must guard itwisely and use it generously to help others less favored, " repliedAlora thoughtfully. 

"And she left it all in your father's keeping?"

"Not the principal. That is all invested, and thank goodness my fathercannot touch it in any way. But the income is paid to him regularly, and he may do as he pleases with it. I am sure mamma expected I wouldhave every reasonable wish gratified, and be taught every womanlyaccomplishment; but I'm treated as a mere dependent. I'm almostdestitute of proper clothing--really, Mary Louise, this is the bestdress I possess!--and I've been obliged to educate myself, making arather poor job of it, I fear. I read the best of father's books, whenhe is done with them, and note carefully the manner in which thecharacters express themselves and how they conduct themselves insociety as well as in worldly contact. I do not wish to be wholly_gauche_ when I come into my kingdom, you see, and the books are myonly salvation. I don't care much for the stories, but some of the goodwriters are safe guides to follow in the matter of dialogue anddeportment. Fortunately, father's books are all in English. He doesn'tunderstand much Italian, although I have learned to speak the languagelike a native--like our native servants, you know. "

Mary Louise reflected on this confession. "I'm afraid, Alora dear, thatmodern novels are not prone to teach morality, or to develop a girl'sfiner intuitions, " she said gravely. "I think you express yourself verywell--better than I do, indeed--but you need association with those whocan convey to you the right principles of thought and thus encourageyour mental development. Culture and refinement seem to come more fromassociation than from books, although there is an innate tendency inall well-born people to acquire them spontaneously. But there! you'llaccuse me of preaching and, after all, I think you've done justsplendidly under rather trying circumstances. "

"You don't know how trying they are, " declared Alora, with a sigh. "Father and I are wholly uncongenial and we fight on the slightestprovocation. This morning our trouble was over money. I wanted a littleto take with me, for my purse hasn't a _lira_ in it; but, no! not a_centisimo_ would he give up. He insisted that if I was to be yourguest you would pay all my expenses. "

"Of course, " said Mary Louise. "But what does he do with all that bigincome? Is he saving it for you?"

"No, indeed! he's saving it for himself. Mamma told me, the last time Isaw her before she died, that if father was good to me, and kind andloving, I could provide for him in some way after I came into my money. She said she would leave the manner of it to my judgment. But he isn'tkind, or loving, or good, and knows very well that when I'm of agehe'll never see another cent of my money. So now he'd hoarding myincome for future use. "

"Isn't it strange that your mother should have trusted him so fully?"asked Mary Louise. 

"Yes, it does seem strange. I remember her saying that he loved luxuryand all the comfort that money will buy, and so she wanted him to havethis income to spend, because he was my father and because she felt shehad ruined his career as an artist by surrounding him with luxuriesduring their early married life, and afterward had embittered him bydepriving him of them. But the man doesn't know what luxury means, MaryLouise. His tastes are those of a peasant. "

"Yet once your mother loved him, and believed in him. "

"I--I think she believed in him; I'm quite sure she did. "

"Then his nature must have changed. I can imagine, Alora, that whenyour mother first knew him he was hard-working and ambitious. He wastalented, too, and that promised future fame. But when he married awealthy woman he lost his ambition, success being no longer necessary. After a period of ease and comfort in the society of his lovely wife--for Gran'pa says your mother was very lovely--he lost both the wife andthe luxuries he enjoyed. A big man, Alora, would have developed a newambition, but it seems your father was not big. His return to povertyafter your mother's desertion made him bitter and reckless; perhaps itdulled his brain, and that is why he is no longer able to do good work. He was utterly crushed, I imagine, and hadn't the stamina to recoverhis former poise. He must have been ten years or so in this condition, despairing and disinterested, when the wheel of fortune turned and hewas again in the possession of wealth. He had now the means to live ashe pleased. But those years had so changed him that he couldn't respondto the new conditions. Doubtless he was glad, in a way, but he was nowcontent merely to exist. Doesn't that seem logical, Alora?"

Indeed, Mary Louise was delighted with her solution of the problem. Itwas in keeping with her talent for deducing the truth from meagre factsby logically putting them together and considering them as a whole. Itwas seldom she erred in these deductions. But Alora seemed unimpressedand noting her glum look Mary Louise said again: "Doesn't all this seemlogical, dear?"

"No, " said Alora. "Father isn't the man to be crushed by anything. He'sshrewd enough, in his _bourgeois_ way. Once, long ago--back in NewYork--a woman made him give her money; it was money, you know; and Ihave often thought he ran away from America to escape her furtherdemands. "

"Who was the woman?"

"My mother's nurse. "

"Oh. Was it her wages she demanded?"

"Perhaps so. I may have misjudged father in that case. But it seemed tome--I was a mere child then--that it must have been a larger sum thanwages would have amounted to. Yet, perhaps not. Anyhow, he left Americaright afterward, and when we had wandered a year or so in variouscountries we settled down here. "

"Won't he have to account for all the money he has spent and givenaway, when you come of age?" inquired Mary Louise. 

"No. Mother distinctly told me I was to ask for no accounting whatever. Her will says he is to handle the income as he sees fit, just as if itwere his own, so long as he provides properly for his daughter andtreats her with fatherly consideration. That's the only reason he keepsme with him, guarding my person but neglecting the other injunctions. If he set me adrift, as I'm sure he'd like to do, I could appeal to thecourt and his income would cease and another guardian be appointed. Ibelieve there is something of that sort in the will, and that is why heis so afraid of losing me. But he gives me no chance to appeal toanyone, although I sometimes think I shall run away and leave him inthe lurch. If I could get to Chicago and tell Judge Bernsted, mymother's lawyer, how I am treated, I believe he could make the courtset aside my father's guardianship. But I can't get ten miles away fromhere, for lack of money. "

"How your dear mother would grieve, if she knew her plans for yourhappiness have failed!" exclaimed Mary Louise. 

Alora frowned, and somehow that frown reminded Mary Louise of thegirl's father. 

"My mother ought to have known my father better, " she declaredsullenly. "I must not criticize her judgment, for her memory is my mostprecious possession and I know she loved me devotedly. But there is onething in her history I can never understand. "

"And that?" questioned Mary Louise curiously, as Alora paused. 

"My mother was an educated woman, well-bred and refined. "

"Yes; Gran'pa Jim told me that. "

"Then how could she have married my father, who is not a gentleman andnever could have impressed a lady with the notion he was one?"

Mary Louise hesitated, for to admit this would send her deductions, socarefully constructed, tumbling in ruins. But Alora ought to know theman. 

"If that is true, dear, " said she, "it is the strangest part of yourstory; and, of course, we can only guess the reason, for the only onewho could have explained it properly was your mother. "

CHAPTER XIJASON JONES IS FRIGHTENED

When Alora had retired to her bedroom that night Mary Louise told toher grandfather, who was her trusted confidant, all that the unhappygirl had related. 

"Of course, " she added, "Alora's explanations dispel my half formedsuspicion that there is some mystery about Jason Jones. I now see thatyou were right, Gran'pa Jim, to laugh at me when I suggested such athing, for in truth the man is easily understood once you becomeacquainted with his history. However, I now dislike him more thanever. "

"In justice to Jason Jones, " remarked the old Colonel, "we must acquithim of being a hypocrite. He doesn't attempt to mask his nature and astranger is bound to see him at his worst. Doubtless Antoinette Seaverunderstood the man better than we are able to and sixteen years ago, orso, when he had youth, talent and ambition, his disagreeablecharacteristics were probably not so marked. As for Alora, she isstrongly prejudiced against her father and we must make due allowancefor her bitterness. The feeling probably arose through her suddentransfer from the care of a generous and loving mother to that of anungracious father--a parent she had never before known. A child ofeleven is likely to form strong affections and passionate dislikes. "

"Do you know, " said Mary Louise, "it shocks me, this hatred of herfather. It seems so unnatural. I wish we could bring them to understandone another better, Gran'pa Jim. "

"That might prove a difficult task, my dear, " he replied with a smile, gently stroking her hair the while, "and I do not think we arejustified in undertaking it. How many times during our travels, MaryLouise, has your impulsive and tender heart urged you to assume theburdens of other people? You seem to pick up a trail of sorrow orunhappiness with the eagerness of a bloodhound and I have all I can doto call you off the scent. One small girl can't regulate the world, youknow, and in this case we are likely to see very little of Alora Jonesand her artist father. We will be nice to them during the few days weare here, but we must soon move on or we'll never get home for yourbirthday, as we have planned. "

Mary Louise sighed. 

"You're almost always right, Gran'pa Jim, " she admitted; "but in allour European travels I've not met so interesting a person as Alora, andshe's an American girl, which draws us still closer together. I'm goingto make her promise that when she's of age and her own mistress shewill let me know, and come to us for a visit. Wouldn't that be allright, Gran'pa?"

He assured her it would be quite proper and that he also admired Aloraand was sorry for her. 

On Sunday forenoon they went to the cathedral and in the afternoon tooka boat to the blue grottoes. In the evening there was a concert in thehotel. All that day the two girls were arm in arm and chattingtogether, developing their mutual liking, while the old Colonel trudgedalong in their wake and was generally ignored in the conversation. OnMonday they planned an excursion to Capri, "For you won't mind if wedon't get you home until after dinner, will you?" asked Mary Louise. 

"Not at all, " said Alora. "I want to make the most of this vacation. "

"Her father may mind, however, " suggested the Colonel. 

"I don't care whether he does or not, " retorted the girl, tossing herhead. "He has no consideration for me, so why should I consider him?"

"I don't like that attitude, dear, " said Mary Louise frankly. "I--Idon't wish to be snippy, you know, but you should not forget that he isyour father. "

"That, " replied Alora doggedly, "is merely my misfortune, and I'm notgoing to allow it to ruin all my life. "

On Monday morning they had scarcely finished breakfast when Jason Jonesappeared at the hotel, having driven over from the villa in his littleautomobile--a tiny foreign contrivance that reminded one of a child'scart but could cover the ground with considerable speed. They weresitting on the big piazza when Alora's father came striding up to themwith a white, fear-struck face. In his trembling hands he held themorning Naples newspaper and without a word of greeting he saidabruptly:

"Have you heard the news?"

Colonel Hathaway rose and bowed. 

"Good morning, Mr. Jones, " said he. "I do not read the localnewspapers, for my knowledge of Italian is indifferent. "

"So is mine, " responded the artist, "but I know enough of their lingoto make out that Italy has entered this fool war. She's going to fightthe Austrians, " he continued, his voice shaking nervously, "and do youknow what that will mean, sir?"

"I can't imagine, " replied the Colonel calmly. 

"It means that presently we'll have all that horde of Germansoverrunning Italy. They'll conquer this helpless land as sure as fate, and we'll all be burned out and tortured and mutilated in the fiendishGerman way!"

"My dear sir, you are frightened without warrant, " declared ColonelHathaway. "It will take some time to conquer Italy, and I cannotimagine the Austrians acting as you suggest. "

"Back of the Austrians are the Germans, and those Prussians are worsethan wild American Indians, " insisted Jones. "If they got theirclutches on my daughter it would be more horrible than death and Idon't propose to leave her in danger a single minute. I'm going to quitthis country. I've come for Alora. We must pack up and catch the firstship from Naples for America. "

There was blank silence for a moment. 

"I'm not afraid, " said Alora, with a laugh, "but if it means ourgetting out of this tiresome place and sailing for home, I'm glad thatItaly's gone into the war. "

Colonel Hathaway was grave and thoughtful. The agitation of the artistseemed to increase with every moment. 

"When does the next boat for America leave Naples?" asked Mary Louise. 

"Tuesday, " said Alora's father. "We've just time to pack ourpossessions and leave. "

"Time!" cried his daughter, "why, I can pack all my possessions in anhour. Go home, sir, and fuss around as much as you like. I'll join yousome time this evening. "

He gave her a queer look, hesitating. 

"We are surely safe enough for the present, " remarked the Colonel. "Thefirst act of war will be to send all the soldiers to the north border. The fighting will be done in the Trentino for some time to come. "

"You don't know these people, " said Jones, shifting uneasily from onefoot to another. "They're all brigands by nature and many of them byprofession. As soon as the soldiers are sent north, all law and orderwill cease and brigandage will be the order of the day!"

"This is absurd!" exclaimed the Colonel, testily. "You're not talkingsense. "

"That's a matter of opinion, sir; but I know my own business, and I'mgoing to get out of here. "

"Wait a week longer, " suggested Mary Louise. "We are to sail ourselveson the boat that leaves Naples a week from Tuesday, and it will be nicefor Alora and me to travel home together. "

"No; I won't wait. Get your things, Alora, and come with me at once. "

"Have you made reservations on the boat?" inquired Colonel Hathaway, refusing to be annoyed by the man's brusque words and rough demeanor. 

"I'll do that at once, by telephone. That's one reason I came over. I'll telephone the steamship office while the girl is getting ready. "

"I will go with you, " said the Colonel, as the artist turned away. 

While Jones used the telephone booth of the hotel Colonel Hathawayconversed with the proprietor, and afterward with the hall porter, whowas better posted and spoke better English. 

"This is outrageous!" roared the artist, furiously bursting from thebooth. "To-morrow's boat is abandoned! The government requires it as atransport. Why? Why? Why?" and he wrung his hands despairingly. 

"I do not know, sir, " returned the Colonel, smiling at his futilepassion. 

The smile seemed to strike Jones like a blow. He stopped abruptly andstared at the other man for a full minute--intently, suspiciously. Thenhe relaxed. 

"You're right, " said he coldly. "It's folly to quarrel with fate. I'vebooked for a week from Tuesday, Hathaway, and we must stick it out tillthen. Do you take the same boat?"

"That is my intention. "

"Well, there's no objection. Now I'll go get Alora. "

But Alora, hearing of the postponed sailing, positively refused toreturn home with him, and Mary Louise, supporting her new friend, urgedher to extend her stay with her at the hotel. Strangely enough, themore he was opposed the more quiet and composed the artist became. Heeven ceased to tremble and an odd apathy settled over him. 

"The hall porter, " said the Colonel, "thinks this is the safest placein Italy. The troops have been on the border for months and theirpositions are strongly fortified. There is no brigandage outside ofSicily, where the Mafia is not yet wholly suppressed. "

Jones grinned rather sheepishly. 

"All right, take his word for it, " said he. "And if you'll beresponsible for the girl you may keep her till we're ready to sail. Perhaps that's the best way, after all. " Then, without a word ofgood-bye, he entered his little motor car and started down thedriveway. 

"A strange man, " said the Colonel, looking after him. "I wonder if itreally was the war that frightened him--or something else--or if he wasactually frightened at all?"

Alora laughed. 

"You can't guess father, try as you may, " she said. "Usually he is coldas ice, but once in awhile he gets these wild fits, which I find ratheramusing. You can't understand that, of course, but if you were obligedto live under the same roof with Jason Jones you would welcome hisoutbursts as relief from the monotony of contemptuous silence. "

CHAPTER XIISILVIO'S GOLD

Jason Jones urged his little car to its best speed until he gained hisvilla. Entering the ground, he was confronted by his factotum, theItalian, Silvio. 

He sprang out and approached the man. 

"Is the prisoner safe?" he whispered. 

"Certainly, Signore. "

"Is she still in the grape-house?"

"With the wine presses, Signore. "

"And she can't get out?"

"Unless she becomes small, like a rat, Signore. "

Jones glanced around suspiciously, then fixed his gaze on a littleoutbuilding of stone, with a tiled roof, which stood quite removed fromthe others of the group. 

"Has she screamed, or cried out?" he asked the man. 

"Not since I put her in, las' night, Signore. "

"Good. You've fed her?"

"The plenty. She eat very well. It's a nice lady, Signore. "

"She's dangerous. Listen, Silvio: we must keep her there a weeklonger. "

"If I am jailer a week, I mus' double my price, " he asserted, shrugginghis shoulders. 

"Nonsense!"

"The lady will offer me more to let her out. She say so. "

"What! You'd betray me?"

"Not if I have the gold--here, in my hand--_now, _ Signore. "

Jones grew red and then white. He eyed the man wickedly. He scowled, and Silvio smiled pleasantly. Silvio was big for an Italian; big andbrawny; as his smile faded his face assumed a look of stubborndetermination. 

"So you want the gold now, Silvio?"

"At once, if it please the Signore. The gendarmes are ugly if the lawis broken. Their jails are not as pleasant as the grape-house. So thegold must be twice the amount we had spoken of, Signore. "

"And you will promise she shall not escape; that you'll keep her safeuntil--until I tell you to let her go?"

"That is our bargain, Signore. "

Jones sighed regretfully. 

"Very well, then, Silvio, " he said. "You're a robber--the son of abrigand--the spawn of a bandit! But come with me to the house, and youshall have your gold. "

* * * * * * * *

Alora stayed all that week with Mary Louise, hearing nothing of herfather and almost forgetting her unhappiness in the society of herdelightful new friend. It was Sunday evening when the Colonel and MaryLouise drove their guest over to the villa and the two parties did notsee one another again until they met on the deck of the steamer inNaples on the following Tuesday morning. 

The Joneses came aboard very quietly just at the last moment and at thegang-plank Alora's father was confronted by a grimy Italian boy whohanded him a letter. Without pausing to read it, Jones hurried below, and he kept his stateroom until the ship was well out in the blueMediterranean, on its way to Gibraltar and New York. But no one missedhim, for Alora and Mary Louise were happy at being reunited and Gran'paJim was happy in seeing them happy. 

CHAPTER XIIIDORFIELD

In one of the middle-west states there is a delightful little citycalled Dorfield. It hasn't so many thousand inhabitants, but in all itsaspects and its municipal equipment it is indeed a modern city. It hasfactories and a big farming community to support its streets of neatand progressive shops, and at the west side of the business district isa residence section where broad, wooded streets furnish the setting formany cozy homes. Some of the houses are old and picturesque, and someare new and imposing, but each has its flower-lit garden, its fruit andshade trees and its little garage or barn tucked away in the back yard. 

When you come to Oak Street there is a rambling frame house on thecorner, set well back, where Peter Conant, the lawyer, lives with hisgood wife and his niece Irene Macfarlane, who is seventeen. This is oneof the ancient dwellings of Dorfield, for the Conants are "oldinhabitants. " Right next them stands a more modern and expensive, ifless attractive, mansion, with grounds twice as large and a velvet lawnthat puts the Conants' carelessly-cropped grass to shame. But the twofamilies are neighbors and friends nevertheless, for in the new houselives Colonel James Hathaway and his granddaughter Mary Louise Burrows. At least, they live there when at home and, although they seempersistent ramblers, they are glad to have this refuge to return towhen wearied with traveling and sight-seeing. 

One morning in June Mr. Conant was just seating himself at thebreakfast table when a messenger-boy delivered a telegram--a "nightletter" from New York. The lawyer, a short, thick-set man of middleage, with a stern countenance but mild blue eyes, laid aside hismorning paper and read the telegram with his usual deliberation. Mrs. Conant silently poured the coffee, knowing any interference would annoyhim. Irene, the niece, was a cripple and sat in her wheeled chair atthe table, between her uncle and aunt. She was a pleasant-faced, happylittle maid, consistently ignoring her withered limbs and thankful thatfrom her knees up she was normal and that her wheeled chair renderedher fairly independent of assistance in all ordinary activities. Everyone loved Irene Macfarlane because of her brave and cheeryacceptance of her misfortune, and her merry speech and spontaneouslaughter rendered her, as "Aunt Hannah" often declared, "the light ofthe house. " Irene was, moreover, an intimate and highly valued friendof her next door neighbor, Mary Louise Burrows. 

Mr. Peter Conant, sipping his coffee reflectively, read the lengthytelegram a second time. Then he said, somewhat irritably and choppinghis words into distinct syllables, as was his habit at all times:

"I wonder why people imagine a lawyer's duties cover every phase oflife? My clients use me as a real-estate agent, a horse trader, apurchasing agent, a father confessor, an automobile expert, a medicaladviser, and sometimes--in their simplicity--as a banker!"

"What's wrong now, Peter?" inquired Mrs. Conant with wifely sympathy. 

"Colonel Hathaway wants to know--"

"Oh, is Mary Louise coming back?" cried Irene eagerly. 

He frowned at her. 

"What does the Colonel wish to know, Peter?"

"I object to this unwarrantable cross-examination, " said he. "It iscustomary to first allow one to state his case. "

"Forgive me, Uncle Peter!"

"Take your time, " said Aunt Hannah, composedly buttering the toast. "You will, anyhow, and I'm sure Irene and I have both learned to curbour feminine curiosity. "

He glanced at the telegram again. 

"Do you know if the Pelton place has been rented, my dear?"

"The Pelton place? Why, it wasn't rented yesterday, for I passed bythere and saw the rent sign still in the window. Mr. Harlan is theagent. "

"I know. And where can we find a female house-servant, Hannah?"

"Now, see here, Peter; it's all very well for you to keep your owncounsel, when there's a professional secret to be guarded, but if youwant any help from me you've got to open your mouth and talk outplainly, so I can answer you in a sensible way. "

"You're always sensible, Hannah, " he observed, quite unruffled by herdemand. And then he ate a whole slice of toast and drank his coffee andhanded his cup for more before he spoke another word. 

Irene devoted herself to her breakfast. She knew Uncle Peter's ways andthat it was useless to attempt to hurry him or force him to explain, until he was quite ready to do so. Aunt Hannah bided her time. Peterwas a thoughtful man, and he was doubtless thinking. His wife was notonly a clever helpmate but was noted for her consideration of hererratic spouse. 

"The Colonel, " said Mr. Conant at last, "has run across a man who wantsto make his home in Dorfield. A very sensible idea. The Colonel met theman in Europe. The man----"

"What's the man's name?" inquired Mrs. Conant. 

He referred to the telegram. 

"Jones. Jason Jones. "

"I never heard of him. "

He looked at her reproachfully. 

"Why should you, my dear? The Colonel found the man in Europe. We livein Dorfield. The man, it seems, has a daughter----"

"Oh, goody!" cried Irene. 

"Who has become a friend of Mary Louise, therefore the Colonel wires toask if there is a furnished house to rent at a modest price and if acompetent female servant can be secured for the man and his daughter. He requests me to wire an answer promptly. That is the gist of thetelegram, although the Colonel, in his usual extravagant way, has paidfor more words than were required to express his meaning. "

"And what are you going to do about it?" demanded Mrs. Conant. 

"I am endeavoring to gain information from my wife. "

"Very well. What does he mean by 'a modest price'? The Pelton place isexpensive. The rent is sixty dollars a month, while a comfortable houselike that of the Widow Harrington rents for fifteen dollars, with good, solid furniture. "

"Is Mrs. Harrington's house for rent?" he asked. 

"Yes. She'll go to live with her married daughter as soon as she canfind a tenant. The poor creature needs the money, and her house is justaround the corner from here and her back yard backs up to the Colonel'sback yard. Now, the Pelton place is two blocks from here, and thePeltons don't need the money, because they're already too rich andaristocratic to live in Dorfield any longer. "

"H-m-m!" murmured Mr. Conant. "It occurs to me that a friend of ColonelHathaway might desire a more luxurious home than that of the WidowHarrington. "

"Doesn't the telegram say 'a modest price'?"

"It does. I'll quote both places and let the man Jones take his choice. And how about the female servant, Hannah?"

"Leave that to me; I can hire plenty. But if Mr. Jason Jones takes thePelton place he will want one kind of a servant, and if he takes Mrs. Harrington's house he'll want a different sort. "

He gazed at her admiringly and passed his cup again, saying:

"You've a logical mind, my dear. Had you been a man you might havebecome a fairly good lawyer. "

"No, Peter; not another drop. You've two cups already. "

"Are you sure, Hannah?"

"Absolutely positive!"

"Then, " said he, rising with a sigh, "I'll go to the office. "

To Mr. Conant's disappointment, to Mrs. Conant's delight, to Irene'ssatisfaction and the astonishment of all, Mr. Jason Jones selected Mrs. Harrington's modest house and ordered it rented and prepared for hisarrival on the following Thursday. This was conveyed in a secondtelegram from Colonel Hathaway, who requested the lawyer to inform oldUncle Eben and Aunt Sally, the Colonel's own faithful colored servantsand caretakers, that he and Mary Louise would return home on the sameday. 

"You see, " said Aunt Hannah, triumphantly, "I sized the Joneses uppretty well. It isn't necessary for a man to be rich to be a friend ofthe dear Colonel, for he considers a man, rather than a man'spocketbook. "

"Yet a man who can afford to travel abroad, with his daughter, " beganMr. Conant, argumentatively, "should certainly be able and willing----"

"What do you know about him, Peter? Perhaps he has spent his readymoney in Europe and is now obliged to economize. Unless that is thecase, why does he come to a sleepy little town like Dorfield, which isalmost forgotten by the big world, to settle down?"

"Why, he's the Colonel's friend, " retorted the lawyer, stiffly. 

"And Mary Louise is his daughter's friend, " said Irene. "That accountsfor it, of course, and they couldn't have picked a prettier place. Dorfield may be sleepy, and quiet, and half forgotten by the rest ofthe big world, but it's simply delightful as a residence. Didn'tColonel Hathaway choose it for a home? And the Colonel could afford tolive at the Waldorf-Astoria, if he wanted to. "

"I know why you are pleased, Irene, " remarked Aunt Hannah, smiling uponher niece. "You're going to have another girl friend. "

"She won't be as nice as Mary Louise, though, " was the reply. "There'sno girl in the world as sweet and lovely as Mary Louise!"

"Or one that innocently gets into more trouble, " declared Mr. Conant. 

"That, " said Aunt Hannah, "is because she can't let other people'stroubles alone. "

CHAPTER XIVHOME AGAIN

Mr. Conant, who was Colonel Hathaway's lawyer and confidential agent, was at the train to meet his important client on his return toDorfield. The first to alight from the coach was the Colonel, whogreeted his lawyer with a cordial handclasp. Mary Louise kissed PeterConant upon his impassive cheek and presented him to a pretty younggirl who clung to her arm smiling, yet half bewildered by her arrivalin a strange town. There seemed no one else with the party and Mr. Conant glanced over the crowd of passengers and said:

"Mr. Jones did not accompany you, then?"

"Why, yes; I suppose he's here, " answered the Colonel carelessly. "Ibelieve he traveled another car. "

"I don't see him anywhere, " added Mary Louise. "I wonder if anyonereminded him that this is the place to get off?"

"Never mind, " said Alora; "if father can't keep track of himself, lethim go on to another station. I can't lose him for long, that'scertain. "

"There he is, up ahead, " announced Mara Louise. "He's quarreling withhis porter about something. "

"To save the tip, " suggested Alora, scornfully. 

Mary Louise rushed to greet an old colorful man with snow-white hair, who was picking up their hand baggage. 

"Oh, Uncle Eben, I'm so glad to see again!" she exclaimed. "And how'sAunt Sallie? And is my pony well? And are the goldfish still alive?And----"

"Bress yo' soul, Ma'y Weeze!" said the delighted old servant, "ev'body's well an' joyful to see you-all back ag'in. "

The Colonel shook Uncle Eben's hands--both of them--in a kindly butdignified manner. "I suppose the automobile is still running, Uncle?"

"Not jes' dis yere minnit, Kun'l, " with a glad chuckle, "but dat car'sgwine ter run jes' as soon as we-all gits aboahd. What yo' think I'sbe'n doin' all winter, Kun'l, in dat lonesomeness house, 'cept keepin'dat car greased up?"

"Did you grease it in the house, then, Uncle?" asked Mary Louisegravely, but with twinkling eyes. 

Old Eben chuckled again, for this was a happy hour for him, but whilehe chuckled he led them to where the automobile stood waiting. Behindthe others slowly followed Jason Jones, carrying his own luggage andeyeing every detail of his surroundings in the manner of a countrymanpaying his first visit to town. He was inwardly sizing up Dorfield as aplace of residence. When Jones got into the car the Colonel brieflyintroduced him to the lawyer. 

"This is Mr. Jones, Mr. Conant. "

He looked at the lawyer and gave a slight nod, and Mr. Conant's bow wasvery stiff and formal. Already he had, with fair accuracy, grasped therelationship of the man to the others. Alora Jones seemed a fine girl--the right sort--and Mary Louise was evidently fond of her. The Colonelbarely tolerated the man Jones, whom he did not like, for thedaughter's sake. The girl herself lacked in respect for her father, andthis unfilial attitude seemed condoned by both Mary Louise and theColonel, which was evidence that there was something wrong about JasonJones. With such a cue for guidance, Mr. Conant decided he had no usefor Jason Jones, either. 

Uncle Eben first drove the car to the Widow Harrington's cottage, whereMrs. Conant awaited the new tenants to introduce them to their servantand to assure them that everything was prepared for their convenience. Then they drove to Colonel Hathaway's home, where Irene was at the gatein her wheeled chair, a bunch of her choicest roses in her hand, readyto welcome her friend Mary Louise and to be kissed and hugged withgirlish enthusiasm. 

It was a happy homecoming, indeed, for Mary Louise. And ColonelHathaway breathed a deep sigh of relief as he entered his own portals. 

"From now on, " he said to his granddaughter that evening, "I am underno obligation to assist that impossible person, Jones, or to evenassociate with him. For your sake, my darling, I have suffered theinfliction of his presence with fortitude, even going to the extent oflocating him in our beloved town of Dorfield, that you and Alora mightenjoy one another's society. But from this time forward Jason Jones isto be a distant acquaintance rather than a companion. Congratulate me, Mary Louise!"

"I do, Gran'pa Jim, " she replied soberly, "and I thank you, too. It hasbeen a trial for both of us, but we've been really helpful to poorAlora. I want to try to bring a little happiness into her life andencourage her to become as sweet and lovable a girl as she has thenature to be, and this could never have been accomplished had weallowed her to drift in the sole companionship of her disagreeablefather. "

CHAPTER XVTHE PUZZLE BECOMES INTRICATE

Alora formed an immediate friendship for crippled Irene Macfarlane, first based on sympathy and afterward on genuine admiration. That onecondemned to pass her entire life in a wicker wheel-chair should be sobright and cheerful, with no word of protest or even a reference to herown misfortune, was deemed wonderful by Alora, and she soon found thatIrene had an excuse or explanation for every seeming annoyance herfriends suffered and delighted to console them. At the same time sheallowed no one to console her, because she declared she needed noconsolation. 

Such a disposition invited confidence, and soon Irene knew more ofAlora's past history, including her trials and tribulations, than evenMary Louise had yet learned, and was shocked and grieved at the girl'svengeful defiance of her father, due to his neglect and coldness aswell as to his contemptible selfishness. But Irene had an excuse readyeven for the artist. 

"Poor Mr. Jones!" she said one day, when the three girls were togetherand had been discussing Alora's troubles; "think what a trial must havebeen to him to be saddled with the care of a child he had not seensince babyhood and had no especial interest in. As for affectionbetween them, it could not sprout nor grow because there was no mutualunderstanding to germinate it. Your father's life, my dear, had beenwrecked by his separation from your mother and the money meant littleto him at that period of his life when you were left to his care. Butdid he refuse the obligation so inconsiderately thrust upon him? No. Although a man of reserved nature--almost a recluse--self absorbed andshrinking from association others, he accepted the care of an elevenyear old child and, without being able to change his disposition tosuit her requirements, has guarded her health and safety ever since. "

"So that he can use my money, " added Alora, with a shrug. 

"But you admit that he doesn't squander money on himself. "

"I don't know what he does with it. If he wants books, he buys them; hebought a rickety automobile in Italy and never took me to ride in it;but his extravagance seems to end there. I've read some letters that heleft around, showing that he is investing thousands in his own name--what for, I can't guess, as he is too miserly ever to have a use forit. "

"Well, he may be intending to endow some deserving charity, " suggestedIrene. "And, as for his not loving you, Alora, I fancy you have nevertried to win your father's love. "

"No one could love that man. "

"You have never been able to get beneath his reserve. You came to himfrom a luxurious life, a petted and pampered child, and his simpletastes and unemotional nature repelled you from the first. Is it notso?"

"I'm not sure, Irene. I needed sympathy and affection. Had my fatherbeen different, had he shown love for me, or even fatherlyconsideration, I would have responded eagerly. But he ignored me. Therehas never been any companionship between us. He has guarded my personalsafety because I was of financial value to him. Once, when I contracteda fever, he was really worried, and hired a skillful doctor and atrained nurse; but he never entered my sickroom. When I was well, hereproached me for costing him so much money. I told him it was mymoney, and he was costing me more than I could ever cost him. Ireminded him he would have been a beggar, but for my income, and thatshut him up at once. "

"There's the whole trouble, " declared Irene. "Constant friction and alack of consideration for one another. Such remarks could not have madehim more gracious toward you, Alora, and you did not appreciate hiscare in furnishing you with the means of recovery. "

"Had I died, " said the girl, "my fortune would have gone to a bunch ofthird-cousins whom I have never seen. That would have stopped father'sright to the income, you see. "

Irene sighed and Mary Louise smiled. It was almost impossible to defendMr. Jones consistently, with Alora present to accuse him. 

The artist at first took little interest in his new home. The cottagewas small and not very cheerful, but it was cheap, and all that JasonJones seemed to care for was a place to stay that was not expensive. Hecontinued his reading and had a book in his hand from morning tillnight. He seldom left the cottage except for a trip to the publiclibrary or to a book-store, and never spoke to anyone unless it wasnecessary. 

Their maid was Jane Gladys O'Donnel, stout and good-natured, anindifferent cook and rather untidy. She was twenty years old and theeldest of a large and impoverished family. Her mother was a laundress--"took in washin'"--and her earnings, with the wages of Jane Gladys, must suffice to feed many hungry mouths. That was why Mrs. Conant hadhired Jane Gladys. Aunt Hannah knew the girl was not very competent, but she was cheap, so Mr. Jones accepted her without protest. Alora hadlived so long abroad that she did not know what a competent Americanhousemaid is. 

One forenoon--they had now been a month at Dorfield--Mr. Jones wasseated on the little front porch, reading as usual, when a queerbuzzing in the air overhead aroused his attention. 

"What's that?" he called sharply, and Jane Gladys, who was dusting inthe little room behind him, replied:

"That, sor, is only Steve Kane's flyin' machine. "

"A what?"

"A flyin'-machine, sor. Kane has a facthry fer makin' the crazy thingsin the town yonder--over by the South Side. "

"Indeed!" He got up and went into the yard to watch the far-away speckin the sky that was humming so persistently. "Why, there's another!There are two of them, " he exclaimed, as if to himself. 

"There might be a dozen, sor, 'cause there's a school for airy--airy--airy-flyin' over by Kane's facthry, where they teaches the folks to flythat buy the machines. "

He stood a long time, watching the sky. When the last aeroplane haddisappeared he resumed his reading. But the next day he watched for themachines again, abandoning his book to follow the course of the flyers. 

"Where did you say that factory is located?" he asked Jane Gladys. 

"Over by the gas works, sor, be the South Side. Ye takes the Ellemstreet car, at the four corners. On a Sunday there be crowds a-watchin'the air-divils. "

He started to read again, but gave it up and glanced nervously up anddown the little porch. Jane Gladys noted this with surprise, for he wasusually quiet and unobservant, "like th' toad in th' garden, whatsquats under a bush all day an' fergits he's alive till a fly lights onhis nose, " as she expressed it to the family at home. 

After lunch Mr. Jones went to town and after making inquiries took thecar to the aviation works and field. He watched the construction offlying machines in the factory and saw one or two pupils take shortflights in the air. And Jason Jones was so interested that he was lateto dinner that evening. 

Next day he was at the aviation field again, and from that time hehaunted the place, silent and composed but watching every detail ofmanufacture and listening to the experts as they instructed the pupils. These were not many--three altogether--although Stephen Kane'saeroplane was now admitted to be one of the safest and most reliableever invented. And one day one of the instructors, noticing the silentman who had watched so long, invited him to take a flight, thinkingperhaps to frighten him; but Jason Jones promptly accepted theinvitation and with perfect composure endured the strange experienceand returned to ground with heightened color but no other evidence ofexcitement. Could Alora have seen him that day she would have acquittedhim of cowardice. 

But Alora knew nothing of her father's odd fancy for some time after hebecame interested in aeroplanes. She was not often at home during theday, frequently taking lunch with Mary Louise or Irene and passing muchof her time in their company. She had no interest whatever in herfather's movements and Jane Gladys didn't think to mention the matterto her, for "flyin'-machines" had ceased to be a novelty in Dorfieldand the sound of their buzzing through the air was heard many times aday. But in turning over a pile of her father's books one day in hisabsence, Alora found several treatises on aviation and was almoststartled to find that Jason Jones cared for any reading aside fromlight novels. 

She had been hunting, at the time, for a novel to read herself, soturning from the aviation literature to a shelf of fiction she begansearching for an interesting title. Presently, as she drew out one ofher father's books, it opened by accident at a place where a letter hadbeen tucked in--a letter written on soiled and coarse paper of aforeign make. It was addressed: "Sig. Jaysn Jones, at the SteamerHercules to sail for New York, U. S. A. " Opening it, she found it signed:"Silvio Alleghero. "

That was their man-servant in Italy, so with a smile of anticipatedamusement she read the letter. It was brief, indeed, but the girl'sexpression soon changed to a puzzled look, for the scrawl said:

"Honored Signore: At your command I have this morning, three hoursafter your departure for Naples, allowed the prisoner to escape. "

"How funny!" she exclaimed, knitting her brows. "I can't remember anyprisoner at the villa. Perhaps it was the cat. It would be just likeSilvio to consider the release of a cat a important event. "

She replaced the letter in the book and after selecting another novelforgot Silvio's epistle entirely. 

Another time, when Alora happened to be at home for their noon-dayluncheon and her father did not appear, Jane Gladys quietly remarked inanswer to her query that "th' ol' man was prob'ly over to theflyin'-machine works. "

"Does he go there often?" she asked in surprise. 

"Why, he mostly lives there, " asserted the maid. 

Alora laughed, and afterward told Mary Louise, as a bit of humorousgossip, that the man who had heretofore failed to find any interest inlife had at last succumbed to the fascination of the aeroplane. 

"Well, I'm glad of it, " said Mary Louise. "I've often wondered, Lory, how your father could be so infatuated with novel-reading, absorbingstories of human interest, if they have any interest at all, with suchavidity, while the real people all around him failed to interest him atall. I have thought perhaps he read to keep his mind from--from otherthings that it would make him unhappy to dwell upon. "

"I have thought so, too, " replied Alora, musingly. "And this queerfancy of his for a new and unusual invention may serve the samepurpose. But I, too, am glad he has found a diversion that will keephim away from home. That barn of a cottage will become more homelikewithout his eternal presence. "

Peter Conant, the lawyer, had paid little heed to Jason Jones since thelatter's arrival in Dorfield. He had heard his wife and Irene gossipabout the girl and her father and state that Alora was an heiress andMr. Jones merely the guardian of her fortune until she came of age, buthis legal mind decided that the girl's "fortune" must be a modest one, since they lived so economically and dressed so plainly. ColonelHathaway, who might have undeceived him in this regard, seldom spoke tothe lawyer of anything but his own affairs and had forborne to mentionMr. Jones and his personal affairs in any way. 

Therefore Mr. Conant was somewhat surprised when one morning JasonJones called at his office and asked for an interview. The lawyer wasbusy that day, and attaching little importance to his caller hedemanded brusquely:

"Well, sir, what can I do for you?"

The man seated himself and glanced around the room before replying. Thebig desk, littered with papers, the cabinet files and stiff chairsseemed to meet his approval. In the outer office a girl was busilyclicking a typewriter. 

"You are Colonel Hathaway's lawyer, I believe?" said Jones. 

"I have that honor, sir. "

"That's why I came to you. The Colonel is a prosperous man and hasjudgment. I want your advice about investing some money. "

Peter Conant regarded him with a speculative gaze. The thought flashedthrough his mind that if Jones had any money to invest he might betterbuy himself a new necktie and have his shoes repaired, or even investin a new dress for his daughter, who needed it. But he merely said inhis peculiar way of chopping each word off short as he uttered it:

"How much have you to invest?"

"Not a great deal at this moment, but I am I constantly receivingdividends and interest on my daughter's securities and so, if I amgoing to live in Dorfield, I shall need a lawyer to advise me how toreinvest the money, as well as how to make out the papers properly. Idon't want to make any mistakes and get robbed--even by my lawyer. ButI'll pay you a fair price. Perhaps I should explain that while theincome is derived from my daughter's property the investments are to bemade in my name. "

"Why so?"

"The income belongs to me, by my dead wife's will, as long as Alora isalive and in my keeping. When the girl is eighteen she will manage herown affairs, and I'll be quit of her--and out of any further income, aswell. So I'm investing now to secure my future. "

"I see. How old is your daughter at this time?"

"Fifteen. "

"So you've three years more to grab the income. "

"Exactly. "

"How much money do you wish to invest to-day?"

"Twelve thousand dollars. "

Peter Conant sat up straight in his chair. 

"And you say this is but part of the income?"

"The estate is valued at nearly two million dollars. "

The lawyer gave a low whistle of amazement. Beside this enormous sum, even Colonel Hathaway's holdings shrank into insignificance. 

"You surprise me, " he said. "I imagine, then, that you can afford tolive somewhat better than you do. "

"That is none of your business. "

"True. Good day, Mr. Jones. "

"Eh?"

"I won't accept you as a client. "

"Why not, sir?"

"Thank you for asking. In the first place, I don't like you, " saidPeter Conant. "Nor do I approve of your treating your daughter--a greatheiress--as you do, and hoarding all her enormous income for yourpersonal use. You're not toting fair. It is an unjust arrangement andI'll have nothing to do with it. "

Jason Jones sat still and stared at him. 

"Good day, sir!" repeated the lawyer, curtly. 

The man did not move. Peter turned to his papers. 

"See here, " the artist presently remarked; "let's come to anunderstanding. I don't like you, either. You're insulting. But you'rehonest, and I think I could trust you. "

"I'm not especially honest, " retorted the lawyer, "but I'm particular. I don't need clients, and I don't want a client I'm ashamed of. "

Still the man did not offer to go. Instead, he reflected for awhile inhis stolid, unemotional way, while Peter Conant frowned and examinedthe papers on his desk. 

"I believe you'll see the thing in a different light if you read mywife's will, " said Jones. "I've brought a copy of it with me, thinkingit might help you to understand my affairs. "

"Is it an attested copy?" asked the lawyer, turning around again. 

"Yes. "

"Let me see it. "

Mr. Conant decided to read the will, with the idea that he might findin it some way to assist Alora. When he had finished the document hewas disappointed. Mrs. Antoinette Seaver Jones, a woman clever enoughto make a fortune, had been foolish enough to give her former husbandautocratic power over her money during her daughter's minority. Had theman been a gentleman, the folly would have been mitigated, but JasonJones, in Mr. Conant's opinion, was a selfish, miserly, consciencelessrascal. Enjoying a yearly income that was a small fortune in itself, hehad neglected to educate his daughter properly, to clothe her asbefitted her station in life or to show her ordinary fatherlyconsideration. Affection and kindness seemed foreign to the man'snature. He handed the will back and said:

"You have taken an unfair advantage of the confidence reposed in you byyour dead wife, who doubtless loved her child. Legally your actionscannot be assailed, but morally they should ostracize you from decentsociety. As I said before, I do not want your business. I'll havenothing to do with you. "

Jones remained unruffled. 

"I'm a stranger in the city, " he remarked. "Perhaps you will recommendme to some good lawyer. "

"No. There are a score of lawyers in town. Make your own choice. "

The man rose and put on his hat. 

"I said you were honest, and I was right, " he calmly remarked. "I'llsay now that you are a fool, and I'm right in that, also, " and withthese words he walked away. 

That was his only protest to the humiliating rebuff. He showed noanger. He did not seem annoyed. He simply rode down in the elevator, examined the directory, and selected another lawyer in the samebuilding. 

CHAPTER XVIALORA WINS HER WAY

Mary Louise decided that Alora Jones improved on acquaintance. Therewere many admirable traits in her character that had lain dormant untildeveloped by association with two girls of her own age who werethemselves gentle and considerate. It is true that Alora at times wasstill headstrong and willful and unable to bridle her tongue whenirritated, but neither Mary Louise nor Irene ever reproved her by wordor look, so that she grew ashamed of her outbursts and when at home herfather aroused her to anger she fled to her girl friends and sought intheir companionship the antidote to her vexation. The two friends haddecided it was unwise to comment on Alora's unhappy family relationsand soon she discovered this and refrained from burdening them with herhome quarrels. 

No one could witness Irene's patient resignation to misfortune withoutadmiring her character and being touched by her bravery and gentleness, and association with this crippled girl was softening Alora's hard anddefiant nature wonderfully. Had the association continued it might haveredeemed the prospective heiress from many of the faults she hadacquired through years of neglect and rebellion against fate, but theclose triumvirate of girl friends was suddenly dissolved, early inJuly, by no less a person than Will Morrison--a wealthy and kindlynatured gentleman who was a friend of both the Conants and ColonelHathaway. 

Will Morrison had purchased a yacht; it was anchored in the breakwaternear the Chicago Yacht Club, and its owner intended making a summertrip through the Great Lakes and cordially invited the Conants andIrene, and Mary Louise and Colonel Hathaway to accompany his party. 

Unfortunately, Mrs. Conant at that time was ill. She had contracted alingering but mild form of spring fever that would keep her in bed forweeks, and Irene, who was devoted to her aunt, would not leave her tothe mercies of a nurse. Mary Louise wanted to go, though, for theMorrisons were delightful people and any yacht they purchased would besure to be safe and comfortable. 

Since the Conants could not go, Mary Louise suggested to hergrandfather that they ask Will Morrison to invite Alora Jones, and theColonel approved the idea because he thought it would do Alora muchgood to mingle with refined people such as were sure to form the yachtparty. So, when he answered Mr. Morrison's letter, he told himsomething of Alora and asked permission to fetch her along. 

"I'm not at all sure, " he said to Mary Louise, "that Mr. Jones willpermit Alora to go with us. "

"Nor am I, " the girl replied; "but perhaps Alora can coax him toconsent. It might be a good idea for you to ask him, too, Gran'pa Jim. "

"My dear!" he remonstrated, "do you think I ought to hazard that man'ssneers and insults, even to favor your friend Alora?"

"No; I do not, Gran'pa Jim, " she laughingly rejoined. "That was afoolish suggestion, and I withdraw it. If Alora fails, I'll speak tohim myself. I'm not afraid of Jason Jones, and he doesn't growl at meas he does at poor Lory. "

They did not mention the proposal to Alora until the Colonel hadreceived a telegram from Will Morrison saying: "By all means inviteMiss Jones to join us. Knew her mother, once, and will be glad to haveher with us. "

Alora was delighted at the prospect of a yachting trip and decided atonce that she would go, especially as Colonel Hathaway said she wouldbe Mary Louise's guest on the trip to Chicago and no money would beneeded for expenses. So she attacked her father in a somewhat originalmanner. 

Mr. Jones had conceived a passion for flying and had just purchased anaeroplane. He was to begin his lessons at once and was so thoroughlyimmersed in his strange fancy that he paid little heed to anythingelse. His books were neglected. His former quiet life--amounting almostto physical inertion--had given place to a nervous and all-consumingdesire to master the rather strenuous art of aviation. Alora was quiteunaware of this transformation, for as usual Jason Jones kept his owncounsel and followed his inclinations without conference with anyone. The girl knew that her father haunted the aviation field, but anythingthat kept him amused away from home was gratefully approved by her. 

Usually the two breakfasted together in silence. Lately Mr. Jones hadhurried through with the meal so as to get away, and he did not returnfor lunch. So on this important morning Alora said casually:

"I'm going away for three or four weeks. "

"Where to?" he asked sharply, suddenly rousing from his abstraction. 

"I'm going on a yachting trip with Mary Louise and Colonel Hathaway. We're to be the guests of a Mr. Morrison and his wife, who own theyacht. "

"Morrison? Morrison?" he repeated suspiciously. Then, as if relieved:"I don't know any Morrisons. "

"Nor do I. They are old friends of the Hathaways and the Conants, however. "

"Well, you can't go. It's nonsense. "

"Why?"

"Yachts are dangerous. I don't want you drowned. "

"I'd be as safe on a yacht as I would be in this house, " she declared. "Do you think I intend to take any chances with my life? Pleaseremember that when I'm eighteen I shall have a fortune and be able tolead an independent life--a pleasant life--a life in sharp contrast tothis one. Therefore, I'm going to live to enjoy my money. "

He gave her a shrewd look of approval. The argument seemed to appeal tohim. It quieted, to an extent, his fears for her safety. 

"Anyhow, " said Alora bluntly, "I'm going, and I dare you to stop me. "

He was silent a while, considering the proposition. Just now he wouldbe busy at the aviation field and in Colonel Hathaway's charge the girlwas likely to be quite safe. He was inclined to relax his vigilanceover his precious daughter, on this occasion. 

"How long do the Hathaways expect to be away?" he inquired. 

"Mary Louise says we will surely be home three weeks from the day weleave. "

"Surely?"

"Without fail. "

"H-m-m. It's a risk. Something might delay you. Do you know what wouldhappen if you left me for sixty days or more?"

"Of course I do. That will of my mother's states that if at any time mydevoted father develops any neglect of me, or lack of interest in hisdarling daughter, such as allowing me to become separated from him forlonger than sixty days at one time, the court has the privilege, at itsoption, of deposing him as administrator of my estate and appointinganother guardian. The other guardian, however, is to be paid a salaryand the income, in that case, is to accrue to the benefit of myestate. "

"How did you learn all that?" he demanded. 

"You left a copy of the will lying around, and I read it and made acopy of it for myself. I now know my mother's will by heart. Shesuggests that if we must live together, 'in loving companionship, ' youwill probably have me educated by tutors, at home, and her objection togirls' schools--I wonder why?--was the principal reason she insertedthe clause that we must never be separated. It would prevent you fromsending me away to school. But as for the tutors, I haven't yet madetheir acquaintance. "

"Tutors cost money, " he said in a surly tone. 

"I realize that; and while there is an abundance of money, the willstates that it is to be entirely in your control. But we've quarreledon that subject too many times already, without your loosening yourgrip on the dollars. To get back to our subject, I assure you I shallnot be gone longer than twenty-one days, and the trip won't cost you asingle penny. "

"When did you propose going?"

"We take the noon train on Monday for Chicago. "

He got his hat and left the house without another word, leaving Aloraexultant. She hurried over to tell Mary Louise the good news. 

"Did he really consent?" asked Mary Louise. 

"Well, he didn't forbid it, " said the girl, "and that's the samething. "

CHAPTER XVIITHE DISAPPEARANCE

The train was late getting into Chicago that Monday night. ColonelHathaway took Mary Louise and Alora to the Blackington, but the hotelwas so crowded that the girls could not get adjoining rooms. However, they secured rooms just across the hall from one another and theColonel's room was but two doors removed from that of hisgranddaughter, so the three were not greatly separated. 

"Never mind, dear, " said Mary Louise, as she kissed her friend goodnight; "to-morrow we go aboard the yacht, and that will be our home fora long time. "

"What time will you breakfast?" asked Alora. 

"Well, we're up late, and Gran'pa Jim likes to sleep mornings. Can youfast until half-past eight, Alora?"

"Yes, indeed, " with a laugh. "I'm used to somewhat early hours, so Ishall probably be dressed by seven. But I'll find plenty to amuse meuntil you are up, and I'll knock on your door at eight-thirty. "

But in the morning Alora failed to knock on Mary Louise's door, as shehad promised. The Colonel was ready for breakfast, having enjoyed agood night's rest, and Mary Louise said to him:

"Alora probably slept later than she expected to. Shall I risk wakeningher, Gran'pa Jim?"

"I think so, " he replied. "She has slept long enough, for a younggirl. "

Mary Louise ran across the hall and knocked at the door of 216. Sheknocked again, for there was no answer. She did not dare call out, forfear of disturbing other guests of the hotel. The Colonel now came andrapped upon the panels, but without any better result. 

"I think she must have left her room and is perhaps in the parlor, orin the hotel lobby, " he said. 

A chambermaid was passing through the hall and overheard the remark. 

"The party in 216 has been up a long time, sir, " she asserted. "I foundthe door ajar at six o'clock, and so I went in and made up the room. "

"Poor Alora!" exclaimed Mary Louise laughingly; "she was too excited tosleep, and, as you say, we shall probably find her somewhere about thehotel, enjoying the sights. "

But they could not find the girl anywhere in the hotel. After a longand careful search for her, Colonel Hathaway left word at the desk thatif his room or Mary Louise's room was called, to report that they wouldbe found in the breakfast room. 

The old gentleman was distinctly annoyed as they sat down to breakfast. 

"The foolish girl is wandering about the streets, somewhere, " hecomplained, "and it was unmannerly to leave the hotel withoutconsulting me, since she is our guest and in my care. "

Mary Louise's sweet face wore a troubled expression. 

"It is not like Alora, Gran'pa Jim, " she asserted in defense of herfriend. "Usually I have found her quite considerate. " Then, after apause: "I--I hope nothing has happened to her. "

"Don't worry, " he replied. "She's a wide-awake girl and has a tongue inher head, so she can't get lost. Why, Mary Louise, Alora knows the citywell, for she used to live in Chicago with her mother. "

"Until she was eleven. That was four years ago. But I did not think ofher getting lost. The automobiles, you know, are so thick----"

"Yes, dear; and there's the lake, and the railroad crossings, and thestreet cars; but the chances are against our little friend's beingdrowned or run over, especially so early in the day, when there isn'tmuch traffic. Again I ask you not to worry. "

But Mary Louise couldn't help worrying. They lingered over thebreakfast, but Alora did not join them. Then they waited around thehotel until nearly noon, without receiving a word from her. FinallyColonel Hathaway, too, became nervous. He telephoned the central policestation to inquire if a young girl of Alora's description had met withan accident. There was no record of such an accident, but in half anhour a detective came to the hotel and asked for the Colonel. 

"Tell me all the particulars of the young lady's disappearance, please, " he requested. 

When he had received this information he said:

"Let us go to her room. "

The key to No. 216 had not been turned in at the office, but wasmissing. With a pass-key they unlocked the door of Alora's room andfound her suit case open, her toilet articles lying upon the dresserand her nightrobe neatly folded ready for packing. Her hat was missing, however, and the little jacket she wore with her tailored suit. 

The detective touched nothing but examined the room and its contentswith professional care. 

"Let us call the chambermaid who made up the room, " he suggested. 

The woman was easily found and when she appeared the detective asked:

"Did you fold this nightrobe, or did you find it already folded?"

"Why, it was lyin' careless-like over the foot of the bed, " said she, "so I folded it up. "

"Why didn't you hang it in the closet?"

"The clerk had notified me the room would be vacated to-day. So I knewthat when the young lady came back she'd want to pack it in her grip. "

"And at what time did you find the door ajar?"

"At six-ten, sir. I come on duty at six. "

"You did not see Miss Jones?"

"No, sir--if that were the lady's name. "

"You found no one prowling about the halls?"

"Didn't see a soul, sir. "

"Thank you; that's all. "

When she had gone the detective said to the Colonel in a reassuringtone:

"I wouldn't worry, sir, although I'll admit this prolonged absence ofMiss Jones is puzzling. But perhaps she has gone to call on an oldfriend and will presently return and apologize. I remember her mother--a remarkable woman, sir--who used to live at the Voltaire. She had alot of friends in Chicago, did Mrs. Antoinette Seaver Jones, so it'slikely her daughter is looking some of them up. "

"I wish you would do all you can to locate her, " pleaded ColonelHathaway. "The young girl was placed in my care by her father and Ifeel personally responsible for her safety. "

"She's safe enough, sir. No sign of a struggle in her room; no reportof an accident in the city. Went out of her own volition and willprobably come back the same way, when she's ready. I'm going back tothe office now, but I'll instruct our men to keep a good lookout forMiss Jones. If we hear anything, I'll let you know at once. In themeantime, if the girl happens to turn up, you must telephone me of thefact. "

He handed the Colonel his card and went away. 

"This is dreadful, Gran'pa Jim!" exclaim Mary Louise. "That man can'thelp us a bit. What do you think we ought to do?"

"Why, we've done all in our power, already, it seems to me, " heanswered. "The police will keep a good lookout for Alora. "

"I've no confidence in that detective. "

"Why not, my dear? He seemed quite courteous and gentlemanly. "

"But he isn't especially interested. He didn't probe far enough intothe case. He never asked why the key to Alora's door was missing, yetthe maid found the door ajar--half open, " said Mary Louise. "Would shetake the key and leave the door open?"

"Why--no; that _is_ strange, Mary Louise. "

"The detective didn't inquire at the office whether the night clerk hadseen Alora pass through and go out. But _I_ inquired, Gran'pa, and thenight clerk goes off duty at six o'clock, when the relief clerk comeson, but neither saw any girl at all leave the office. No one was in thehotel lobby, at that hour. "

"That is strange, too! How could Alora get out, otherwise?"

"I can't guess. Gran'pa, I'm going to telegraph Josie O'Gorman, and askher advice, " said Mary Louise. 

"Do. It's a good idea, Josie might put us on the right track, " approvedthe Colonel. 

So Mary Louise went to the telegraph office in the hotel lobby and sentthe following message:

"Josie O'Gorman, 1225 F Street, Washington, D. C. 

"A girl friend has mysteriously disappeared from the Blackington, wherewe are stopping. What shall I do?Mary Louise Burrows. "

Two hours later she received this answer:

"Miss Mary Louise Burrows, Hotel Blackington, Chicago. 

"Notify police at once. Keep cool. I'm coming. Josie O'Gorman. "

Mary Louise felt tremendously relieved when she read this. Josie was agirl of her own age, but she was the daughter of one of the mostcelebrated secret service men in the employ of the United Statesgovernment, and John O'Gorman had trained Josie from babyhood in allthe occult details of his artful profession. It was his ambition thatsome day this daughter would become a famous female detective, but herefused to allow her to assume professional duties until she had becomethoroughly qualified to excel. He did not wish her to be ordinary, butextraordinary, and Josie's talents, so far, had seemed to justify hisexpectations. Mary Louise knew Josie very well and admired and lovedher, for in her amateur way Josie had once helped to solve a stubbornmystery that threatened the happiness of both the old Colonel and hisgranddaughter, and through this experience the two girls had becomefriends. Josie O'Gorman was devoted to Mary Louise, who knew she couldrely on Josie's judgment in this emergency but had scarcely expectedher to come all the way from Washington to Chicago to render herpersonal assistance. 

In appearance the young girl--who was destined some day to become agreat detective--was not especially prepossessing. She was short ofform and inclined to be stout--"chubby, " she called herself. She hadred hair, a freckled face and a turned-up nose. But her eyes, round andblue and innocent in expression as those of a baby, dominated herfeatures and to an extent redeemed their plainness. 

Mary Louise hurried to the Colonel. 

"Gran'pa Jim, " she cried excitedly, "Josie is coming!"

"That is very good of her, " replied the Colonel, highly pleased. "Josieis very resourceful and while she may not be able to trace Alora shewill at least do all in her power, and perhaps her clever little brainwill be able to fathom the mystery of the girl's disappearance. "

"She tells us to notify the police, but we did that at once. I don'tknow of anything else we can do, Gran'pa, until Josie comes. "

Colonel Hathaway communicated with the police office several times thatday and found the officials courteous but calm--prolific of assurances, but not especially concerned. This was but one of a number of peculiarcases that daily claimed their attention. 

"I should hire a private detective, were not Josie coming, " he toldMary Louise; "but of course it is possible we shall hear of Alora, directly or indirectly, before morning. "

But they did not hear, and both passed a miserable, wakeful, anxiousnight. 

"There is no use in our consulting Alora'a father, for the present, "remarked the old gentleman, next morning. "The news would only worryhim. You remember how very particular he was in charging me to guardhis daughter's safety. "

"Yes, and I know why, " replied Mary Louise. "Alora has told me that ifshe is lost, strayed or stolen for sixty days, her father might berelieved of his guardianship and lose the income he enjoys. Now, Iwonder, Gran'pa Jim, if Alora has purposely lost herself, withmischievous intent, so as to get rid of her father, whom she abhors?"

The Colonel considered this thoughtfully. 

"I think not, " he decided. "The girl is impulsive and at timesreckless, and doubtless she would like to be free from her father'sguardianship; but I am sure she is too fond of you, and has too muchrespect for me, to run away from us without a word. Besides, she has nomoney. "

"Really, " said Mary Louise despondently, "it is the strangest thing Iever knew. "

Josie O'Gorman arrived at the hotel at six o'clock in the afternoon, having caught the fast train from Washington the evening before. Shecame in as unconcernedly as if she had lived at the hotel and merelybeen out to attend a matinee and greeted the Colonel with a brightsmile and Mary Louise with a kiss. 

"My, but I'm hungry!" were her first words. "I hope you haven't dinedyet?"

"Oh, Josie, " began Mary Louise, on the verge of tears, "thisdreadful----"

"I know, dear; but we must eat. And let's not talk or think of thetrouble till our stomachs are in a comfortable condition. Which way isthe dining room?"

Neither the Colonel nor Mary had eaten much since Alora'sdisappearance, but they took Josie in to dinner, realizing it would beimpossible to get her to talk seriously or to listen to them until shewas quite ready to do so. And during the meal Josie chattered away likea magpie on all sorts of subjects except that which weighed mostheavily on their minds, and the little thing was so bright andentertaining that they were encouraged to dine more heartily than theyotherwise would have done. 

But afterward, when they had adjourned to a suite that had now beengiven them, and which included a cosy little sitting room, and afterthe Colonel had been ordered to light his cigar, which always composedhis nerves, the O'Gorman girl suddenly turned serious and from thedepths of an easy chair, with her hands clasped behind her red head, she said:

"Now to business. Begin at the beginning and tell me all there is totell. "

"Haven't I written you something about Alora, Josie?" asked MaryLouise. 

"Never mind whether you have or haven't. Imagine I've forgotten it. Iwant every detail of the girl's history. "

So Mary Louise told it, with a few comments from her grandfather. Shebegan with their first meeting with Alora and her eccentric father inItaly, and related not only all the details of their acquaintance butsuch facts as Alora had confided to her of her mother's death and hersubsequent unhappy relations with her father and guardian. Alora hadoften talked freely to Mary Louise, venting in her presence muchbitterness and resentment over her cruel fate--as she deemed it. So, knowing Josie's desire to obtain the most seemingly trifling detail ofa case, Mary Louise told the story as connectedly and comprehensivelyas possible, avoiding all personal comment so as to leave Josie's mindfree from prejudice. 

During the recital Josie sat very still, with closed eyes, reclininglazily in her chair and refraining from any interruption. 

"Now, Colonel, " she said, "tell me all that Mary Louise has forgottento mention. "

"She has told you more than I knew myself, " he declared. "Of course weinformed the police of our friend's disappearance and they sent adetective here who went into the affair very carefully. Yet, sofar----"

"I know, " said Josie, nodding. "I called at the police station before Icame here, on leaving the train. The detective is Al Howard, and he's anice fellow but rather stupid. You mustn't expect any results from thatsource. To be sure, the department might stumble on a clew, but thechances are they wouldn't recognize it, even then. "

"I'm certainly surprised to hear that!" said the Colonel. 

"Because you are ignorant of police methods. They mean well, but haveso much to handle, in a big city like this, that they exist in a stateof perpetual bewilderment. "

"But what are we to do?" pleaded Mary Louise. "Tell us, Josie!"

"How do _I_ know?" asked the girl, with a smile. "I'm just JosieO'Gorman, a student detective, who makes as many blunders--alas!--as afull-fledged 'tec. ' But I thought I'd be able to help, or I wouldn'thave come. I've a personal interest in this case, Mary Louise, becauseit's your case and I love you. So let's get to work. Have you aphotograph of Alora Jones?"

"No, " was the reply. 

"Then give me a word picture of her. "

Both Mary Louise and the Colonel tried to do, this, and Josie seemedsatisfied. 

"Now, then, " she said, rising, "let's go to her room. I hope it hasn'tbeen disturbed since she left it. "

"The police have taken the key and forbidden anyone to enter the room. "

"Quite proper. But we'll go there, just the same. "

The room was but a few steps away, in the same corridor, and when theyarrived there Josie drew a bunch of slender keys from her purse andunlocked the door with no difficulty. Having entered, she turned on theelectric lights and cast a curious glance around. 

"Let's read Alora's room, " said she, while her companions stoodlistening. "To begin with, we see her night-dress nicely folded and hertoilet articles arranged in neat order on the dresser. Chambermaid didthat, for Alora is not neat. Proving that her stuff was just strewnaround and the orderly maid put things straight. Which leads to thesupposition that Alora was led away rather suddenly. "

"Oh, do you think so?"

"She left the door ajar, but took the key. Intended, of course, to lockher room, but was so agitated by what she saw or heard that she forgotand just walked away. "

"But no one saw her leave the hotel, " observed Mary Louise. 

"Then she didn't pass through the office, but through the less usedLadies' Entrance at the side. "

"That was not unlocked, they told me, until after seven o'clock. "

"Then she left by the servants' entrance. "

"The servants'!"

"Quite likely. You'll say she didn't know anything about it, or whereit was; but the fact remains that Alora left the hotel. I'd like to seethat chambermaid. I believe you told me she comes on duty at sixo'clock in the morning. All right. I'll catch her at six a. M. To-morrow. "

"The detective interviewed her, " stated Colonel. 

"I know, and she answered all his questions. My questions will bedifferent. If Alora used the servants' entrance, she went out with aservant or with someone who knew the ways of the hotel intimately. "

"I don't see that, " objected Mary Louise. 

"Nor do I, but there lies our trail. Alora didn't pass out through theoffice, nor did she make her exit through the less public Ladies'Entrance. There are only two other ways to get out of here: through thebaggage door and by the servants' entrance at the rear, which lets intoan alley. The head porter will know whether Alora went out the baggagedoor, but as it's usually very high--on a level with the platform of abaggage-wagon--I don't believe she jumped it. That leaves the servants'entrance as the probable exit for our missing one, and as she was aperfect stranger to the arrangements of this hotel, she couldn't havegone that way unless someone guided her. So our course is clear, MaryLouise. Find out who enticed Alora from the hotel and it won't bedifficult to trace her and discover what has become of her. "

"Enticed, Josie?"

"Had force been used, she would have screamed and attracted attention. Let us say she was decoyed. "

"You think, then, that Alora was kidnapped?"

"Let us reason. The girl couldn't have had an enemy in Chicago, according to her history, for she was only eleven when she left hereand no one hates an eleven year old child. Having no enemy, she hasdoubtless escaped personal harm. But Alora is an heiress, and a lot ofpeople in Chicago know that. You suggest kidnapping. Well, perhapsthat's the solution: held for ransom. "

"That would be the first idea of Jason Jones!" exclaimed Mary Louise. "He has always seemed afraid of such a thing. "

"In that case, however, I do not believe her father would pay aransom, " declared Colonel Hathaway. 

"Oh, indeed he would!" asserted Mary Louise, emphatically; "we mustn'tforget that if Alora isn't found and restored to him within a giventime he will lose all her income for the next three years. "

Josie looked at her friend admiringly. Then she laughed. 

"You're a better detective than any of us, " she remarked. "What I'vebeen groping for is the _object_ of the abduction, and you've hit thenail squarely on the head. Now we're getting down to brass tacks, so tospeak. The whole thing is explained by the one word--'blackmail. ' Girldisappears; papa is threatened with the lose of thousands. Very well, Papa! pay up. Relinquish a part of the income and you may keep therest. Refuse, and you lose it all. Ergo, papa pays. "

"That certainly seems a logical conclusion, " admitted the Colonel. 

"Then, " said Josie, thoughtfully, "we must decide whether to put it upto Mr. Jones, and let him pay, or to go on with the search. "

"We'll go on!" exclaimed Mary Louise. "We may be wrong, and poor Aloramay be in danger, or suffering. We must rescue her as soon aspossible. "

"The girl was in my care, " said the Colonel, "and I feel responsiblefor her safety. Moreover blackmail is a crime against society, and theplot should be foiled even were we not interested in the victim of it. I am anxious to find Alora before her father is approached. "

"Then, " Josie decided, "we will leave no stone unturned in our effortsto locate and recover her. If we have diagnosed the case correctly, wehave to deal with a shrewd and unprincipled, if not clever person. Cleverness, too, we may encounter, and then our task will be doublyhard. "

"Poor, dear Alora!" sighed Mary Louise. "It's a shame she should sufferbecause some cruel person wants her father's money. The fortune hermother left her has been a _mis_fortune to her daughter, instead of ablessing. "

"Money, " said Josie sententiously, "is a dangerous thing. Itspossession, or the lack of it, leads to four-fifths of the world'scrimes. The other one-fifth is charged to hatred and jealousy. But--dear me!--here I am philosophizing, when I ought to be thinking. "

"Then think, Josie, and think to some purpose, " pleaded Mary Louise. 

"If our hastily constructed theory is correct, " remarked JohnO'Gorman's daughter, "Papa Jones will soon hear from Alora's abductor, with a financial proposition. "

"I hope we shall find her before then, " returned the Colonel earnestly. "We ought not to delay an instant, with that idea in view. Indeed, ourtheory may be quite wrong and Alora be in desperate need of immediateassistance. "

"Correct, sir, " agreed Josie. "But we won't abandon our theory until weevolve a better one and in following this lead we must first discoverwho in Chicago is aware of the terms of the will of Antoinette SeaverJones. Also who is familiar enough with Papa Jones' love of money tobelieve he can be successfully blackmailed. What information can eitherof you give me along those lines?"

"Alora has talked to Irene a good deal about that dreadful will, "replied Mary Louise, "Irene has repeated many of her statements to me. Also Alora has frankly spoken to me, at times, and her queer historyhas interested us all. But I cannot remember that any such person asyou describe is in any way mixed up with the story. Judge Bernsted drewup the will for Alora's mother. He was her lawyer, and she trusted himfully. "

"She was justified, " declared Josie. "I know of Judge Bernsted, byreputation. He died a year ago. "

"Then, " continued Mary Louise, reflectively, "there was Mrs. Jones'doctor, who was very kind to Alora and who also enjoyed her mother'sconfidence. His name was Anstruther--Dr. Anstruther. "

"He is a prominent physician in Chicago, " declared Josie, who seemed toknow every important person of every locality, for this had been partof her education. "It is impossible that Dr. Anstruther could have anyknowledge of this plot. Moreover, it doesn't seem to me like a man'splot. I don't believe Alora would have accompanied a strange man, underany circumstances, for she's knocked around the world enough to havelearned prudence. The crime is feminine. What woman knew of this will, and was an intimate friend of Mrs. Jones, or of Mr. Jones?"

"Really, " said Mary Louise, "I don't know. "

"Nor you, Colonel?"

"I do not recollect hearing of any woman connected with the Joneshistory--except Alora's former governess, a Miss Gorham, who wasdischarged by Mr. Jones at the time he took his daughter from Chicagoto New York. "

"That isn't such a bad clew!" Josie quickly returned, sitting upstraight and staring reflectively at the old gentleman. "Miss Gorham, eh? Now, how long had she been Alora's governess?"

"For some years, I believe. " It was Mary Louise who answered thisquestion. 

"Then she doubtless knew the family secrets. Was Alora fond of her?"

"I think not. She has told me that at the time they separated she wasglad to be rid of the woman. "

"Then the woman may be the kind that would resort to blackmail. Discharged from a good place, where she had drawn pay for years, shewould be angry. Brooded during the last four years on her imaginedwrongs and figured out a neat revenge. Had sized up Papa Jones and knewhe clung to money with a desperate grip and would pay some rather thanlose all. Couldn't get another job; was poor; had no money to chase upJones, but figured he would some time return to Chicago and give her anopportunity play her game. Discovered that Alora had arrived at thishotel, and----See here! What would prevent the former governess, now inreduced circumstances, from being employed as a servant in this veryhotel? Perhaps as a night chambermaid. May have seen Alora enter herroom and recognized her former pupil. During the long night she figuredand planned how to take advantage of the fortunate circumstances. Earlyin the morning, before she left here, went to Alora and in some wayinduced the girl to go out with her. Alora would accompany her oldgoverness without suspicion. So--there's the whole story, in anutshell, rather cleverly figured out. "

"Oh, Josie, it must be true!" cried Mary Louise, who had eagerlyfollowed this plausible reasoning. 

"And it may not, " laughed Josie. "It's just a theory, and gooddetectives distrust theories, which often befog clever brains. Still, the deduction sounds mighty logical. I'm going to my room, now, to givethe suggestion some serious thought. I'll try to tear it to pieces, orat least to pick holes in it. When I came away Daddy said to me:'Josie, beware that imagination of yours. If it asserts itself, sit onit. ' Daddy was glad to have me tackle the case, and try to help you, for these little affairs give me practice; but he hates to have me makea flat failure. So, for dear old Daddy's sake, I'm not going to let anygood-looking theory lead me astray. Good night. You'd both better go tobed, for I can see you had little sleep last night. But your strainmust now relax, for you've pushed the responsibility onto my poorlittle shoulders and now it's up to me to worry. "

CHAPTER XVIIION THE TRAIL

Josie O'Gorman loved mysteries for their own sake. She loved thembecause they required solutions, and to solve a mystery is not onlyinteresting but requires a definite amount of talent. Since she was awee thing perched on her father's knee, Officer O'Gorman had floodedher ears with the problems he daily encountered, had turned theproblems inside out and canvassed them from every possible viewpoint, questioning the child if this, or that, was most probable. By this oddmethod he not only enjoyed the society of his beloved daughter butargued himself, through shrewd reasoning, into a lucid explanation ofmany puzzling cases. To his pleased surprise, as little Josie grewolder she began to answer his questions, taking a part in hisprofessional arguments with himself, and from that time her training asa detective began. 

John O'Gorman had never been quite sure whether his fatherly adorationunduly influenced him or whether Josie was indeed an exceptionallytalented girl; so, having firmly determined to train her to become agirl detective, he had so far held her in leash, permitting her toinvestigate various private cases but refusing to place her inprofessional work--such as the secret service--until she had gainedexperience and acquired confidence in herself. Confidence was the onething Josie lacked most. She took her mistakes too much to heart. 

The girl was full of enthusiasm, however, and now meant to untangle themystery of Alora Jones if it were possible to do so, both to pleaseMary Louise and to enjoy the satisfaction of success. After saying goodnight to her friends, and before going to her own room, the girlwandered about the big hotel making casual inquiries and obtaining moreor less useful information. Afterward, she sat in her room and arrangedin her mind the complete history of Alora, so far as she was informedof it, and made notes of all facts which seemed to bear on the presentproblem. 

Next morning she inquired for the housekeeper and found that ladyseated in her little office on the third floor of the hotel. 

"I'm trying to trace one of the servants who left you Monday night, orearly Tuesday morning, " she said, after informing the woman that shewas engaged in tracing the missing girl, Alora Jones. "I am not surewhat name you knew her by, but her real name was Gorham. "

"No one has left us this week, " returned the housekeeper, who seemeddisposed to converse freely with her visitor. 

"Are you sure of that?"

"Why, I'm positive. We treat our help well and they seldom leave us. I'm sure no woman employed in this hotel, down to the lowest kitchenscullion, has resigned or been discharged during the last few days. "

"And there is no one still in your service named Gorham?"

"No one. It's an unusual name and I should have remembered it. "

"Do any of the guests ever use the servants' entrance?"

"Certainly not. It is reserved exclusively for the employees. Some ofour guests have private maids, who occasionally use the rear entrances, and Mrs. Tolliver's trained nurses are allowed to pass out that way, too; but----"

She stopped abruptly, as if some new thought had occurred to her. 

"What is it?" asked Josie, who was watching her face. 

"Why, I have just recollected that Mrs. Tolliver's night nurse did notshow up Tuesday evening, for some reason, and they were obliged totelephone for another. "

"Who is Mrs. Tolliver?"

"One of our permanent guests, who is suffering just now from a severeattack of rheumatism. She employs two trained nurses, a day nurse and anight nurse. "

"And the night nurse left her post Tuesday morning and did not returnin the evening, as she was expected to do?"

"That's it, miss. Mrs. Tolliver was greatly annoyed, but fortunatelyshe was able to secure another nurse at once. "

"What was the nurse's name--the one who abandoned her job withoutnotice?"

"Let me see. It wasn't Gorham. I'll call Alice, my assistant; I feelquite sure that she will know. "

Alice promptly answered the bell and on being questioned said:

"The nurse was Mrs. Orme. She'd been with Mrs. Tolliver ever since shewas took sick, and was the best nurse she's had. "

"Why did she leave?" asked Josie. 

"I don't know, miss, I'm sure. She were a quiet body, never sayin' muchto no one. But quite ladylike, she were, an' most of us liked her. "

"Can you describe her?"

"Well, she isn't tall--not so very tall, you know--an' she's got a goodform an' good manners. I take it she's about thirty-five, an' handsomefor her age. Good eyes, but mostly looks down an' don't show 'em. Veryneat an' tidy. Brown hair. She wore gray clothes, you know--the reg'larnurse's uniform. "

"Do you know where Mrs. Orme lives?"

"No, miss; haven't the faintest idea. "

"Who is Mrs. Tolliver's doctor?"

"The house physician, Dr. Pease. His office is No. 633, in this hotel. "

"Thank you, Alice. "

Josie hunted up Mary Louise. 

"Have you ever heard that a trained nurse named Mrs. Orme is in any wayconnected with Alora's history?" she asked. 

"No; I'm pretty sure Alora has never mentioned such a person. Whatabout her, Josie?

"I think Alora went away with her. Have you any description of MissGorham, the governess?"

"Not especially, " said Mary Louise, trying to remember. "Alora hassometimes referred to her as 'Old Skinny, ' but that doesn't meananything. "

"It means she isn't Mrs. Orme, anyhow, " answered Josie, in adisappointed tone. 

Mary Louise considered this in her usual careful way. She would like tohelp Josie, if she could. 

"Who do you suppose this Mrs. Orme could be?" she presently asked. 

"Some one whom Alora knew years ago, when her mother was alive. Ofcourse her name may not have been Orme, then, and she may not have beena trained nurse. That's why I was inclined to connect her with Gorham. "

"Wait a minute, Josie! A nurse, do you say? Why, I remember somethingabout a nurse, no--Alora's mother's nurse. When we were in Italy, whereI first knew Alora, she told me that her father, at one time when theylived in New York, had been forced to give money to a woman, and Alorabelieved he had left America to escape this person's further demands. When I asked who the woman was, she said it was her mother's nurse; butI'm pretty sure she didn't mention her name. "

Josie's freckled face now wore a broad smile. 

"How simple any enigma proves when you have the key, " she remarked, with an air of relief. "The mystery is solved, my dear! It's all aseasy as A. B. C. "

"In that case, " said Mary Louise, more mystified than ever, "kindlyoblige me with the key. "

"With pleasure. You haven't given me much time to forge a chain, soI'll add each link as it occurs to me. Mrs. Jones, during her lastillness, had a nurse; a good nurse, too, in whom she had confidence. When Mrs. Jones sent for her husband, from whom she had been estranged, the nurse was aware of the action. When the husband came--Alora'sfather--without doubt the nurse remained in the sick room during theinterview. Husband and wife quarreled, instead of making up--this guessis justified by the man's disagreeable disposition--and Mrs. Joneshastily wrote a codicil to her will and gave it into the nurse'skeeping, with instructions to deliver it to her lawyer. Then the poorlady over-excited, lay back and died, and the man Jason Jones--realizedthat his lack of diplomacy had euchred him out of a big income forseven years. But he put up a job with the nurse who held his fate inher hands in the shape of scrap of paper. If she'd give him thatcodicil--no! that isn't right--if she'd keep it to herself and not letanyone know of its existence, Mr. Jones proposed to give her a share ofthe money. She considered this easier than working and the bargain wasstruck. Isn't that a logical chain of events, so far, Mary Louise?"

"But what a terrible thing to do, Josie!"

"Yes, human nature in its worst aspect selfishness, greed, unscrupulousness--and still human nature. Well, the woman followed himto New York and got some of the money, as Alora said; but the nursewanted more, and was likely to bleed the man more liberally than heliked; so, being afraid of her, he ran away to Europe. Nurse spent hermoney, couldn't find Jason Jones to get more, and so returned toChicago and practiced her profession again. Any dummy could figure thatout. "

"I cannot see, " responded Mary Louise, "how that accounts for Alora'sdisappearance. "

"Why, of course the woman knew all about the terms of the will. She wasnursing a Mrs. Tolliver in this hotel when she discovered Alora'sarrival. How she discovered it doesn't matter. In the morning, when theday nurse arrived to take her place, she left Mrs. Tolliver and wentdirectly to Alora's room. The girl instantly recognized her and wouldprobably have a warm place in her heart for her mother's old nurse. Decided to walk part of the way home with her so they could talk overold times--you and the Colonel being still asleep--but was enticed tothe nurse's house and promptly locked up and held as a weapon to forceold Jones to pay up. This completes the chain. A woman who would enterinto such an ugly deal with Jason Jones as I have described would nothesitate to capture Alora, especially as it proved an easy thing todo. "

Mary Louise drew a long breath. "If I could believe that theory, Josie, " she said, "it would relieve me of much worry, for I'd knowAlora is safe. But--what was it your father said about yourimagination?"

Josie laughed. "This isn't wholly imagination, you goose, for it'sbased on a knowledge of human nature, as I've hinted. Also it's ascientific matching of the pieces in the puzzle. Why, Mary Louise, inthis deduction we have all the necessary elements of the usual crime. Awoman--always look for a woman in a mystery, my dear--money, the causeof four-fifths of all crimes, and a guilty man who is afraid of beingforced to disgorge his ill-gotten gains. Then we will add an innocentgirl who suffers through the machinations of others. Some of myconclusions may not be exactly correct, but in the main the story isabsolutely logical. "

"That's what you said last night, Josie, when you thought thegoverness, Gorham, had abducted Alora. "

"True, but I have later information which doesn't entirely upset thetheory but changes the actors in the drama. I don't say that furtherinvestigations may not alter this present plot in some of its details, but the main facts are too lucid and undeniable to get far away from. I'm now going to interview the house physician and get Mrs. Orme'saddress. "

When she had gone, Mary Louise went to Gran'pa Jim with the tale ofJosie's latest discoveries and Colonel Hathaway was so impressed by thetheory that he decided to telegraph Peter Conant to catch the noontrain and come straight to Chicago. 

"The complications suggested by Josie will require a lawyer's advice, "he said, "and Mr. Conant knows law and can advise us how to handle thecase when we have discovered where Alora is confined. "

Meanwhile Josie went to the doctor's office and after waiting sometime, was finally admitted to his private room. 

"I came to ask for the address of a trained nurse--a Mrs. Orme--whomyou recommended to Mrs. Tolliver, " she began, her innocent eyesregarding the physician gravely. 

Dr. Pease frowned. 

"I cannot recommend her again, " said he. "Although she's a good nurse, she is unreliable, and left my patient without notice when she wasbadly needed. "

"I merely want to find her, " declared Josie. "I'm a stranger in townand I've a letter of introduction to Mrs. Orme. "

"I don't know her address. I got the woman through Dr. Anstruther. "

"Oh. May I telephone Dr. Anstruther, then?"

"I've no objection. There's a telephone in the outer office. But you'renot likely to catch him much before noon. Dr. Anstruther is a very busyman. "

Josie went to her own room to telephone. She telephoned Dr. Anstruther's office at intervals all the morning, but did not succeedin getting him until nearly two o'clock. Then he answered that he didnot know Mrs. Orme's address, having always secured her servicesthrough the Sisters' Hospital. 

Josie tried the Sisters' Hospital and learned that Mrs. Orme lived inan apartment at 524 Morgan Avenue. She took a taxicab and drove there, determining to obtain an interview with the woman by posing as a nursewho desired assistance in securing employment. But disappointmentconfronted her. Mrs. Orme had moved from the apartment ten days ago andher present address was unknown. 

"She has taken considerable pains to cover her traces, " said Josie toMary Louise, when she returned from her futile trip. 

"I hope you're not discouraged, dear, " returned Mary Louise anxiously. "The local detectives have done nothing at all, so you are our onlyhope, Josie. "

The embryo detective smiled sweetly. 

"I'm not here on a pleasure trip, " she said, "although I enjoy traveland good hotel fodder as well as anyone. This is business, but so farI'm just feeling my way and getting a start. You can't open a mysteryas you do a book, Mary Louise; it has to be pried open. The very factthat this Mrs. Orme has so carefully concealed her hiding-place isassurance that she's the guilty party who abducted Alora. Beingpositive of that, it only remains to find her--not an impossibility, byany means--and then we shall have no difficulty in liberating herprisoner. "

"But to find her; can you do that, Josie?"

"Certainly, with a little help from the police, which they will gladlyfurnish. They know I'm Daddy's daughter, for I have already introducedmyself to them, and while they may be slow to take the initiative theyare always quite willing to aid in an affair of this sort. Now, itstands to reason, Mary Louise, that the nurse didn't use the streets topromenade with. Alora. That would have been dangerous to her plans. There are so few people abroad in Chicago at six o'clock in the morningthat those who met the two would have noted and remembered them. Forthe same reason Mrs. Orme did not take a street car, or the elevated. Therefore, she took a cab, and the cabman who drove them will know Mrs. Orme's address. "

"But who was the cabman?" asked Mary Louise. 

"That, " said Josie, "is to be my next discovery. "

CHAPTER XIXDECOYED

The excitement of being once more in a big city rendered Alora Joneswakeful on that eventful Tuesday morning following her arrival inChicago. At daybreak she rose and peered trough the window into a grayand unimpressive side street; then, disinclined to return to bed, sheslowly began dressing. 

Presently a sharp knock sounded upon her door. Somewhat surprised, sheopened it far enough to see a middle-aged woman attired in nurse'suniform standing in the dim hallway. 

"Miss Jones? Miss Alora Jones?" questioned the woman in a soft voice. 

"Yes; what is it?"

"I've a message for you. May I come in?"

Alora, fearful that Mary Louise or the Colonel might have been takensuddenly ill, threw wide the door and allowed the woman to enter. Asthe nurse closed the door behind her Alora switched on the electriclight and then, facing her visitor, for the first time recognized herand gave a little cry of surprise. 

"Janet!"

"Yes; I am Janet Orme, your mother's nurse. "

"But I thought you abandoned nursing after you made my father give youall that money, " an accent of scorn in her tone. 

"I did, for a time, " was the quiet answer. "'All that money' was not agreat sum; it was not as much as your father owed me, so I soon took upmy old profession again. "

The woman's voice and attitude were meek and deprecating, yet Alora'sface expressed distrust. She remembered Janet's jaunty insolence at herfather's studio and how she had dressed, extravagantly and attendedtheatre parties and fashionable restaurants, scattering recklessly themoney she had exacted from Jason Jones. Janet, with an upward sweep ofher half veiled eyes, read the girl's face clearly, but she continuedin the same subdued tones:

"However, it is not of myself I came here to speak, but on behalf ofyour mother's old friend, Doctor Anstruther. "

"Oh; did he send you here?"

"Yes. I am his nurse, just now. He has always used me on his importantcases, and now I am attending the most important case of all--his own. "

"Is Dr. Anstruther ill, then?" asked Alora. 

"He is dying. His health broke weeks ago, as you may have heard, andgradually he has grown worse. This morning he is sinking rapidly; wehave no hope that he will last through the day. "

"Oh, I'm sorry for that!" exclaimed Alora, who remembered the kindlyold doctor with real affection. He had been not only her mother'sphysician but her valued friend. 

"He learned, quite by accident, of your arrival here last evening, "Janet went on, "and so he begged me to see you and implore you to cometo his bedside. I advised him not to disturb you until morning, but thepoor man is very restless and so I came here at this unusual hour. Itseems he is anxious to tell you some secret which your dead motherconfided to his keeping and, realizing his hours are numbered, he urgesyou to lose no time in going to him. That is the message entrusted tome. "

There was no emotion in her utterance; the story was told calmly, as byone fulfilling a mission but indifferent as to its success. Alora didnot hesitate. 

"How far is it?" she quickly asked. 

"A fifteen minute ride. "

The girl glanced at her watch. It was not quite six o'clock. MaryLouise and the Colonel would not appear for breakfast for a good twohours yet and after breakfast they were all to go to the yacht. Thehour was opportune, affording her time to visit poor Doctor Anstrutherand return before her friends were up. Had Alora paused to give Janet'sstory more consideration she might have seen the inconsistencies in thenurse's statements, but her only thoughts were to learn her mother'ssecret and to show her sincere consideration for her kindly old friend. 

Hastily completing her attire she added her hat and jacket and thensaid:

"I am ready, Janet. "

"I hope we shall find him still alive, " remarked the nurse, a cleverlyassumed anxiety in her tone, as she took the key from inside the doorand fitted it to the outer side of the lock. 

Alora passed out, scarcely aware that Janet had pretended to lock thedoor. Halfway down the hall the woman handed her the key. 

"Come this way, please, " she said; "it is nearer to the carriage whichis waiting for us. "

At the rear of the building they descended the stairs and passedthrough an anteroom fitted with lockers for the use of the employees ofthe hotel. No one happened to be in the anteroom at that moment andthey gained the alley without encountering a single person. Janetquickly led the girl through the alley and soon they came to a closedautomobile which evidently awaited them. Janet opened the door forAlora and followed the girl inside the car, which started at once andsped along the quiet streets. 

"You will find Doctor Anstruther very feeble, " said the nurse, "for hehas suffered greatly. But I am sure it will give him pleasure to seeyou again. I hope he will recognize you. I scarcely recognized you, myself, you have changed so much since last we saw you at the Voltaire. Your resemblance to your mother is quite marked, however. "

And so, during the ride, she kept up a flow of desultory conversation, intended to distract Alora's attention from the section of the citythrough which they were passing. She spoke of Dr. Anstruther, mostly, and answered such questions as Alora put to her in a calm, unemotionalmanner well calculated to allay suspicion. The woman kept her eyesveiled by her lashes, as of yore, but her face seemed to have aged andgrown harder in its lines. There was no hint now of her former gay lifein New York; she had resumed the humble tones and manners peculiar toher profession, such as Alora remembered were characteristic of her atthe time she nursed her mother. 

"This is the place, " said Janet, as the cab came to a stop. "Let usmove softly, as noise disturbs my patient. "

Alora had paid no attention to the direction they had driven but onleaving the car she found herself facing a three-storied brick flatbuilding of not very prepossessing appearance. Then were several vacantlots on either side of this building, giving it a lonely appearance, and in the lower windows were pasted placards: "To Let. "

"Oh; does Doctor Anstruther live _here?"_ asked Alora, somewhatastonished. 

Without seeming to have heard the question Janet mounted the steps andopened the front door with a latch-key. Alora followed her inside andup two dingy flights to the third floor. Once she started to protest, for the deadly silence of the place impressed her with a vagueforeboding that something was amiss, but Janet silenced her with awarning finger on her lips and on reaching the upper landing herselfavoided making a noise as she cautiously unlocked the door. She stoodlistening a moment and then entered and nodded to the girl to follow. 

They were in a short, dark passage which separated the landing from therooms of the flat. Janet closed the outer door, startling her companionwith the sharp "click" it made, and quickly opened another door whichled into a shabby living room at the front of the building. Standingjust within this room, Alora glanced around with the first realsensation of suspicion she had yet experienced. Janet raised her lidsfor a sweeping view of the girl's face and then with a light laughbegan to remove her own cloak and cap, which she hung in a closet. 

"Come, child, make yourself at home, " she said in a mocking, triumphantvoice, as she seated herself in a chair facing the bewildered girl. "Imay as well inform you that this is to be your home for some time tocome--until Jason Jones decides to rescue you. You won't object, Ihope? Don't get nervous and you'll find your quarters very comfortable, if retired. "

Alora, understanding now, first shuddered, then grew tense and cast ahurried glance at the hall door behind her. 

"Have you lied to me, Janet?" she demanded. 

"Yes. "

"And this is a trap? Doctor Anstruther is not sick? He did not send forme? He is not here?"

"You have guessed correctly, Alora. "

The girl wheeled and in a quick run reached the door to the landing. Itwas fast locked. 

"Help!" she cried, and stopped to listen; "help! help!"

"Come in and take off your things, " called Janet, undisturbed by theoutcry. "This building hasn't a soul in it but ourselves, and you mayyell for help until you are hoarse without being heard. But don't befrightened. I'm not going to hurt you. In fact, I'd like to make yourconfinement as cheerful as possible. Can't you understand the truth--that I am simply holding your person in order to force Jason Jones topay the money he owes me?"

CHAPTER XXJANET'S TRIUMPH

Alora stood by the door, irresolute, wondering what to do. It occurredto her that she was not much afraid of Janet Orme. She had been trappedin order to bleed her father of money; it was all her father's fault--his fault and Janet's. 

"Suppose you help me get our breakfast, " suggested the nurse, coolly. "It will take your mind off your trouble and keep you from brooding. Iadmit I'm hungry, and I'm sure you'll feel better for a cup of coffee. "

She passed into another room, as she spoke, and Alora, realizing thehall door could not be forced by her puny strength, advanced into theliving room. There were three other doorways opening from thisapartment. She could hear Janet rattling dishes and pans, so the wayshe had gone led into the kitchen. The other two doors she found gaveentrance to small bedrooms, neither having egress other than throughthe living room. The furniture in all the rooms was cheap and tawdrybut fairly comfortable. 

Alora sat down and tried to collect her thoughts. Janet got thebreakfast unaided and then came to summon her. Alora quietly walkedinto the kitchen and sat down at a little table spread for two. Therewas a dish of crisp bacon, some toast and coffee. Alora silently ateand drank, determined to maintain her strength. Having finished hermeal she sat back and asked:

"Do you mind explaining what all this means?"

"No, indeed; I'm glad to explain, " replied the woman, raising hereyelids an instant to flash a glance of approval at her prisoner. "Ihave already said that I was obliged to annoy you in order to reachyour father. The dear father is an elusive person, you know, and isdetermined to avoid paying the money he owes me. I haven't been able tolocate him, lately, but I have located you, and you are mighty preciousto him because if he loses you he loses the income from your fortune. Therefore it is my intention to hold you here until Jason Jones eitherpays my demands or allows the probate court to deprive him of hisguardianship. The proposition is really very simple, as you see. "

"Still, " said Alora, "I do not quite understand. How did you know of myvalue to my father?"

"I witnessed your mother's will, " was the reply. 

Alora remembered that this was true. 

"But why does my father still owe you money? You were paid for nursingmy mother. And, if your demands are merely blackmail, why does not myfather defy you?"

"I'll tell you, " answered. Janet. "It is a bit of ancient history, butit may interest you. Your mother renounced your father when you werescarcely a year old. I met Jason Jones soon afterward, andbelieving, --as your own deluded mother did--that he would become a greatartist, I gambled with him on his career. In other words, I supportedJason Jones with all my earnings as a nurse for a period of six years andin return he signed an agreement which states that one-half of all themoney he received in the future, from whatever source, must be paid to mein return for my investment. Doubtless we both thought, at the time, thatany money he got would come from the sale of his pictures; neithercould have dreamed that your mother would call him to her on herdeath-bed and present sent him with your income until you came ofage--seven years' control of a fortune, with no other obligation than tolook after a child and keep her with him. But the agreement between uscovered even that astonishing event. Imagine, if you can, Jason Jones'amazement when he entered your mother's sick chamber to find me--hispartner--acting as her nurse. He was also annoyed, for he realized Iknew the terms of the will and would demand my share of his income. Canyou blame me? He hadn't made good as an artist and this was my onlychance to get back some of the hard earned savings I had advanced him. But Jason Jones isn't square, Alora; he's mean and shifty, as perhapsyou have discovered. He gave me some money at first, when I followedhim to New York, as you know; but after that the coward ran away. Thatprovoked me and made me determined to run him down. I traced him toEurope and followed him there, but he evaded me for a full year, untilmy money was gone and I was forced to return to America. For nearlythree years longer I worked as a nurse and hoarded my earnings. Then, through your father's banker in New York I managed to learn hisaddress. The banker didn't tell me, but I did a little spy work and inthe bank's mail I found a letter in Jason Jones' handwriting postmarked'Positano, Italy. ' That was all the clew I needed and I went to Italyand soon located my man. I faced him in his own villa--I believe youwere away at the time--and when he found he was caught he cringed andbegged for mercy and promised to give me all that belonged to me. Hesaid he had a lot of gold in his possession and he would pay me partlyin gold and partly in drafts on his New York banker. Then he left theroom to get the gold and returned with a husky Italian servant whoseized and bound me and threw me into a stone house used to storegrapes, where I was kept a prisoner for nearly ten days and treatedlike a dog. 

"Finally the Italian released me, asserting that Jason Jones was on hisway to America. I followed as soon as I could get passage in a ship, but your clever father had left New York before I arrived there and Icould not discover where he had hidden himself. Once more he had beatenme. "

Her voice was hard and angry. Alora was tempted to believe the story, for many of its details she knew were true. She remembered, for onething, that queer letter from Silvio which she had discovered tuckedinside one of her father's books. It stated that, according to orders, the Italian had "released the prisoner. " So the prisoner had beenJanet, and Alora could well understand her determination to securerevenge. 

"It seems to me, " she said, "that you should have taken your contractwith my father to a lawyer, and brought suit to recover the money dueyou. Surely that would have been the easiest way to collect it. "

Janet's face grew red; her lashes dropped still further over the eyes;but she answered after an instant's pause:

"I do not wish the world to know what a fool I was to support animitation artist for six long years. A lawsuit means publicity, and Ihave a little pride left, I assure you. Besides, " collecting herthoughts as she spoke, "I cannot see the wisdom of dividing my sharewith a lawyer when I can bring your father to terms myself. I know Ihave executed a bold stroke in seizing you and making you my prisoner, but it's a stroke that's bound to win. It was conceived last night, onthe spur of the moment. Lately I have been nursing in Chicago, where Iam better known than in New York and can get better wages. Since myreturn from Italy I've been saving to renew the search for Jason Jones. While nursing a Mrs. Tolliver at the Hotel Blackington, fortunesuddenly smiled on me. I chanced to examine the hotel register lastnight and found you were registered with Colonel Hathaway's party. Yourroom number was marked opposite your name, so I had you properlylocated. During the night, while on duty in Mrs. Tolliver's room, I hadample time to figure out a plan of action. I knew you were fond of oldDoctor Anstruther and so used his name for a lure. I had already rentedthis flat; not with the idea of using it for a prison, but because itwas cheap and so isolated that I could sleep during the daytime withoutbeing disturbed. I believe that's all that I need explain to you. Ourlittle adventure of this morning you will now be able to understandperfectly. Also you will understand the fact that you must remain aprisoner until my purpose is accomplished. I'm sorry for you, but itcan't be helped. Won't you have another cup of coffee, Alora?"

Alora had no answer ready. Janet's story did not satisfy her; she feltthat somewhere there was a flaw in it; but she decided to bide hertime. 

CHAPTER XXITHE PRICE OF LIBERTY

Alora, being in the main a sensible girl, strove to make the best ofher unpleasant predicament. She longed to notify Mary Louise that shewas safe and well and in answer to her pleadings Janet agreed she mightwrite a letter to that effect, with no hint that she was imprisoned orwhere she could be found, and the nurse would mail it for her. So Alorawrote the letter and showed it to Janet, who could find no fault withits wording and promised to mail it when she went out to market, whichshe did every morning, carefully locking her prisoner in. It is perhapsneedless to state that the letter never reached Mary Louise because thenurse destroyed it instead of keeping her agreement to mail it. Letterscan be traced, and Janet did not wish to be traced just then. 

The days dragged by with little excitement. Alora sought many means ofescape but found none practical. Once, while Janet was unlocking thehall door to go to market, the girl made a sudden dash to get by herand so secure her freedom; but the woman caught her arm and swung herback so powerfully that Alora fell against the opposite wall, bruisedand half stunned. She was no match for Janet in strength. 

"I'm sorry, " said Janet complacently, "but you brought it on yourself. I'm not brutal, but I won't be balked. Please remember, my girl, thatto me this is a very important enterprise and I've no intention ofallowing you to defeat my plans. "

Usually the woman was not unpleasant in her treatment of Alora, butconversed with her frankly and cheerfully, as if striving to relieveher loneliness. 

"Have you written to my father about me?" the girl asked one day. 

"Not yet, " was the reply. "I don't even know where Jason Jones may befound, for you haven't given me his address. But there's no hurry. Youhave been missing only a week, so far. Jason Jones has doubtless beennotified of your disappearance and is beginning to worry. Of course hewill imagine I am responsible for this misfortune and his alarm willgrow with the days that pass. Finally, when his state of mind becomesdesperate, you will give me his address and he will hear from me. Ishall have no trouble, at that crisis, in bringing my dishonest partnerto terms. "

"I can't see the object of waiting so long, " protested Alora. "How longdo you intend to keep me here?"

"I think you should remain missing about fifty days, during which timethey will search for you in vain. Your father's search for you willinclude a search for me, and I've figured on that and defy him to findme. The Sisters' Hospital, the only address known to the physicians whoemploy me, believe I've gone to some small Indiana town on a case, butI neglected to give them the name of the town. So there's a blind leadthat will keep my pursuers busy without their getting anywhere. It'seasy to hide in a big city. Here you are very safe, Alora, middiscovery is impossible. "

Janet had abandoned her nurse's costume from the first day of thegirl's imprisonment. When she went out, which was only to a near-bymarket and grocery, she wore an unobtrusive dress. 

Every day seemed more dreary to Alora than the last. She soon becamevery restless under her enforced confinement and her nerves, as well asher general health, began to give way. She had been accustomed toout-of-door exercise, and these rooms were close and "stuffy" becauseJanet would not allow the windows open. 

For twelve days and nights poor Alora constantly planned an escape, only to abandon every idea she conceived as foolish and impractical. She looked forward to fifty days of this life with horror and believedshe would go mad if forced to endure her confinement so long. 

CHAPTER XXIIA COMPROMISE

"If I had any money of my own, " Alora said to Janet Orme on the morningof the twelfth day of imprisonment, "I would gladly pay it to free. "

Janet flashed a quick glance at her. "Do you mean that?" she asked withill-suppressed eagerness. 

"I do, indeed, " declared the girl, moaning dismally; "but I never havea cent to call my own. "

Janet sat still, for some time, thinking. 

"I, too, wish you were free, " she admitted, resuming the conversation, "for my position as jailer obliges me to share your confinement, andit's wearing on me, as it is on you. But you have unconsciously givenme a thought--an idea that seems likely to lead to a compromise betweenus. I'm going to consider it seriously, and if it still looks good tome I'll make you a proposition. "

Saying this, she retired to her bedroom and closed the door after her, leaving Alora in a fit of nervous trembling through half-formed hopesthat she might gain her release. 

It was nearly an hour before Janet returned. When she came from herroom she stood before the girl for a time and seemed to study her face. Alora was anxious and did not endeavor to conceal the fact. In her handthe woman held a paper, which she presently laid upon the center-table. 

"I have decided to make you a proposition, " she said, turning to seatherself near the table. "If it interests you, all right; if it doesn't, you may of course reject it. My offer is this: If you will tell mewhere to find your father and will promise not to mention me to him orto warn him of my intentions, and if you will sign this paper which Ihave prepared, I will allow you to return to your friends to-day. Youare not especially fond of Jason Jones, I believe?"

"Not especially, although he is my father, " returned Alora, eyeing thewoman expectantly. 

"Then you can have no objection to my forcing him to disgorge my shareof his income, which you would not get in any event. I don't know howmuch of an allowance he makes you, but----"

"I don't get any allowance, " said Alora, "In fact, he gives menothing. "

"Then my demands on your father will not affect your interests. Are youwilling to give me his address, and promise not to warn him?"

"Under the circumstances, yes. "

"Very well. I accept your plighted word--your word of honor. Now signthis paper and you may go. "

She took the paper from the table and handed it to Alora, who read asfollows:

"For value received, in services faithfully rendered and which I herebyfreely and without coercion acknowledge, I hereby promise and agree topay to Janet Orme Jones on the day that I attain my majority the sum ofFifty Thousand Dollars, which sum is to be paid from my estate withoutrecourse, equivocation or attempt to repudiate the said obligation, inasmuch as I willingly admit the said sum to be justly due the saidJanet Orme Jones. "(Signed:). .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. "

Alora read the paper twice, with, growing indignation. Then she glancedup at her jailer and muttered questioningly: "Jones? Janet Orme_Jones?"_

"A family name, my dear. The Joneses are so thick and so unimportantthat generally I do not use the name, but this is a legal document. Ihope you won't try to claim relationship, " she added with a lightlaugh. 

"I'm not going to promise you so enormous a sum as fifty thousanddollars, even to secure my liberty, " said Alora. "It's out of allreason--it's--it's--outrageous!"

"Very well, " returned Janet, coolly; "that's your own affair. This ismerely a compromise proposition, suggested by yourself, as I told you. Let us say no more about it. "

Alora was greatly disheartened. After allowing her hopes to run so highthe disappointment was now doubly keen. Her defiance melted away withthe thought of all the weary days of imprisonment she must endure untilJanet was ready to act. 

"I--I might agree to give you _five_ thousand dollars, " she ventured. 

"Nonsense. I'm not gunning for small game, Alora. Did you but realizeit, I am quite considerate in exacting only fifty thousand. Your estateis worth two millions. Your income is something like eighty thousand ayear, and this payment would leave you thirty thousand to use the firstyear after you come into your fortune. I don't believe you could spendthirty thousand in a year, when you are eighteen years of age. "

Alora turned away and going to the front window, looked through itsstained and unwashed panes into the gloomy street below. The sightemphasized her isolation from the world. Her imprisonment was becomingunbearable. After all, she reflected, in reckless mood, what did sosmall a share of her prospective fortune weigh against her presentcomfort--and health--and happiness?

Janet was stealthily watching her. 

"Should you decide to sign the paper, " said the nurse, "you must makeup your mind not to raise a row when pay-day comes. The money will comeout of your income, and instead of investing it in more bonds, you willhave invested it in your liberty. You won't be inconvenienced in theslightest degree. On the other hand, this money will mean everything to_me_--a modest competence for my old age and relief from the drudgeryof working. I've had a hard life, my girl, for nursing is mere slaveryto the whims of sick people. Consider, also, that for six years JasonJones squandered all my savings in trying to paint pictures that werenot worth the canvas he ruined. If I had that money now I wouldn't needto descend to this disgraceful mode of recouping my bank account; but, under the circumstances, don't you think I am justly entitled to someof the Jones money?"

"You're going to get a lot from my father. "

"True; but that is for his indebtedness, while this amount is for yourfreedom. A scrape of the pen and you secure liberty, fresh air and theprivilege of rejoining your friends, who are probably getting anxiousabout you. If you are the sensible girl I take you to be, you won'thesitate. "

Alora knew the woman was pleading her own case, but the argumentsappealed to her. She was weak and nervous and her longing for libertyoutweighed her natural judgment. 

"I suppose I'm a fool, but----"

Slowly she approached the table where the written promissory note stilllay. Janet had placed a pen and inkstand beside it. 

CHAPTER XXIIIMARY LOUISE HAS AN INTUITION

"I wish, Josie, " said Mary Louise dolefully, "you'd let me help in thissearch for Alora. "

"I'd be glad to, dear, if I could think of a single thing you can do, "replied her friend. "Just now I'm on the most tedious task imaginable--visiting the army of cab-drivers--horse and taxi--here in Chicago andtrying to find the one who carried a woman and a girl away from theBlackington at six o'clock that eventful Tuesday morning. "

"Have you met with any success, at all?" asked Mary Louise. 

"That question proves you're not fitted for detective work, " Josielaughingly asserted. "A moment's reflection would assure you that whenI found my man my search would be ended. Ergo, no success has yetattended my efforts. I've interviewed a couple of hundreds, however, and that leaves only a few hundreds left to question. "

"But the whole thing drags terribly!" complained Mary Louise. "Days arepassing, and who knows what may be happening to poor Alora while youare hanging around the cab-stands?"

Josie's face grew grave. In sober tones she said:

"I'm just as anxious as you are, Mary Louise. But this case is reallypuzzling, because Chicago is such a big city that criminals maysecurely hide themselves here for months--even for years--without beingdiscovered. Mrs. Orme was clever enough to leave few traces behind her;as far as clews are concerned she might have evaporated into thin air, taking Alora with her--except for this matter of the cabman. That's whyI am pinning my faith to this search, knowing all the time, nevertheless, that Mrs. Orme may have provided for even thatcontingency and rendered the discovery of the cabman impossible. To dothat, however, she would have to use a private equipage, involving aconfederate, and I believe she preferred to take chances with a hiredcab. "

"What are the police doing?" inquired Mary Louise nervously. 

"Nothing. They were soon discouraged and lost interest in the matterwhen I took hold of the case. But _I_ don't intend to get discouraged. I hate to be 'stumped, ' as you know, and it seems to me, after carefulconsideration, that success may follow the discovery of the cab-driver. I've not been neglecting other trails, I assure you. I've obtained apretty fair record of the history of nurse Orme. She has the habit ofdrudging in sick rooms until she accumulates enough capital to lead agay life for a month or so, after which she resumes nursing in order toreplenish her purse. She's a good nurse and a wild spendthrift, butaside from the peculiarity mentioned there's nothing in her career ofespecial interest. The woman is pretty well known both in New York andChicago, for she squanders in the first city and saves in the other, but of her early history there is no information available. In herwildest moods she has never done anything to warrant her arrest, yetthe police have kept a suspicious eye on her for years. "

"Poor Alora!" wailed Mary Louise, miserably; "I wish I could dosomething for her. "

"You did a lot for her when you put me on her trail, " declared Josie, with conviction. "I've a hunch I shall win. I've wired Daddy O'Gormanall about the case, but he says he can't advise me. In other words, he's watching to see whether I make good or cave in, and I just _dare_not fail. So keep your courage, Mary Louise, and muster all theconfidence you are able to repose in me. I may not know all the tricksof the sleuths, but I know some of them. And now I'm off to interviewmore cabmen. "

Mary Louise sighed as her friend left her. She was indeed very unhappyand restless during those days of tedious waiting. Peter Conant hadcome to Chicago on the Colonel's demand, but Mary Louise couldn't seehow he was able to help them one bit. 

"Of course, " the lawyer had said in his terse, choppy manner, "whoeverabducted the girl is, criminally liable. We can put the party in jail. "

"When we get her, " suggested Mary Louise impatiently. "The party isMrs. Orme; we have established that fact without a doubt; and, if wecould get her, we'd also get Alora. "

"Just so, " Peter replied; "and, between the O'Gorman girl and thepolice, we ought to capture the woman soon. I have a degree ofconfidence in Josie O'Gorman and somewhat more confidence in thepolice. "

"Do you think we should notify Jason Jones?" inquired Colonel Hathaway. 

"I have considered that, sir, in all its phases, and knowing the man'speculiar characteristics I believe such a course is not as yetdesirable. Jones is so enthralled by his latest craze over aviationthat he would be no fit adviser and could render no practicalassistance in the search for his daughter. On the other hand, hisassociation would be annoying, for he would merely accuse you ofneglect in permitting Alora to be stolen while in your care. I haveseen a copy of his wife's will and know that the girl's loss may costhim his guardianship and the perquisites that pertain to it. In thatcase he will probably sue you for the loss of the money, claimingAlora's abduction was due to your carelessness. "

"He could not win such an absurd suit, however, " declared the Colonel. 

"Still, he might be awarded damages, " asserted the lawyer. "Juries areuncertain; the law is somewhat elastic; judges are peculiar. "

"Don't worry, Gran'pa Jim, " said Mary Louise soothingly, as she sat onthe arm of his chair and rubbed the wrinkles from his forehead; "theremust be such a thing as justice, even in law. "

"Law _is_ justice, " stated Mr. Conant, resenting the insinuation, "butjustice is sometimes recognized by humans in one form, and sometimes inanother. I do not say that Jason Jones could collect damages on suchcomplaint, but he assuredly would have a case. "

Mr. Conant had desired to return home after the first conference withhis client, but he admitted that his wife was recovering from herindisposition and a kindly neighbor was assisting Irene in the care ofher, so he yielded to his client's urgent request to remain. ColonelHathaway was more alarmed by Alora's disappearance than he allowed MaryLouise to guess, and he wanted Mr. Conant to spur the police to renewedeffort. In addition to this the Colonel and his lawyer usually spentthe best part of each day pursuing investigations on their own account, with the result that Mary Louise was left to mope alone in the hotelrooms. 

The young girl was fond of Alora and secretly terrified over hermysterious disappearance. She tried to embroider, as she sat alone andwaited for something to happen, but her nerveless fingers would nothold the needle. She bought some novels but could not keep her mind onthe stories. Hour by hour she gazed from the window into the crowdedstreet below, searching each form and face for some resemblance toAlora. She had all the newspapers sent to her room, that she might scanthe advertisements and "personals" for a clew, and this led her tofollowing the news of the Great War, in which she found a partialdistraction from her worries. And one morning, after her grandfatherand the lawyer had left her, she was glancing over the columns of theTribune when an item caught her eye that drew from her a cry ofastonishment. The item read as follows:

"The Grand Prize at the exhibition of American paintings being held inthe Art Institute was yesterday awarded by the jury to the remarkablelandscape entitled 'Poppies and Pepper Trees' by the California artist, Jason Jones. This picture has not only won praise from eminent criticsbut has delighted the thousands of visitors who have flocked to theexhibition, so the award is a popular one. The Associated Artists aretendering a banquet to-night to Jason Jones at the Congress Hotel, where he is staying. The future of this clever artist promises well andwill be followed with interest by all admirers of his skillfultechnique and marvelous coloring. "

Mary Louise read this twice, trying to understand what it meant. Thenshe read it a third time. 

"How strangely we have all been deceived in Alora's father!" shemurmured. "I remember that Gran'pa Jim once claimed that any man soeccentric might well possess talent, but even Mr. Jones' own daughterdid not believe he was a true artist. And Alora never guessed he wasstill continuing to paint--alone and in secret--or that he had regainedhis former powers and was creating a masterpiece. We have all beensadly wrong in our judgment of Jason Jones. Only his dead wife knew hewas capable of great things. "

She dropped the paper, still somewhat bewildered by the remarkablediscovery. 

"And he is here in Chicago, too!" she mused, continuing her train ofthought, "and we all thought he was stupidly learning to fly inDorfield. Oh, now I understand why he allowed Alora to go with us. Hewanted to exhibit his picture--the picture whose very existence he hadso carefully guarded--and knew that with all of us out of the way, afloat upon the Great Lakes, he could come here without our knowledgeand enter the picture in the exhibition. It may be he doubted itssuccess--he is diffident in some ways--and thought if it failed none ofus at home would be the wiser; but I'm sure that now he has won he willbrag and bluster and be very conceited and disagreeable over histriumph. That is the man's nature--to be cowed by failure and bombasticover success. It's singular, come to think it over, how one who has thesoul to create a wonderful painting can be so crude and uncultured, somorose and--and--cruel. "

Suddenly she decided to go and look at the picture. The trip would helpto relieve her loneliness and she was eager to see what Jason Jones hadreally accomplished. The Institute was not far from her hotel; shecould walk the distance in a few minutes; so she put on her hat and setout for the exhibition. 

On her way, disbelief assailed her. "I don't see how the man did it!"she mentally declared. "I wonder if that item is just a huge joke, because the picture was so bad that the reporter tried to be ironical. "

But when she entered the exhibition and found a small crowd gatheredaround one picture--it was still early in the day--she dismissed atonce that doubtful supposition. 

"That is the Jason Jones picture, " said an attendant, answering herquestion and nodding toward the admiring group; "that's theprizewinner--over there. "

Mary Louise edged her way through the crowd until the great picture wasin full view; and then she drew a long breath, awestruck, delighted, filled with a sense of all-pervading wonder. 

"It's a tremendous thing!" whispered a man beside her to his companion. "There's nothing in the exhibit to compare with it. And how it breathesthe very spirit of California!"

"California?" thought Mary Louise. Of course; those yellow poppies andlacy pepper trees with their deep red berries were typical of no otherplace. And the newspaper had called Jason Jones a California artist. When had he been in California, she wondered. Alora had never mentionedvisiting the Pacific Coast. 

Yet, sometime, surely, her father must have lived there. Was it whileAlora was a small child, and after her mother had cast him off? Hecould have made sketches then, and preserved them for future use. 

As she stood there marveling at the superb genius required to producesuch a masterpiece of art, a strange notion crept stealthily into hermind. Promptly she drove it out; but it presently returned; it wouldnot be denied; finally, it mastered her. 

"Anyhow, " she reflected, setting her teeth together, "I'll beard thewolf in his den. If my intuition has played me false, at worst the mancan only sneer at me and I've always weathered his scornful moods. Butif I am right----"

The suggestion was too immense to consider calmly. With quick, nervoussteps she hastened to the Congress Hotel and sent up her card to JasonJones. On it she had written in pencil: "I shall wait for you in theparlor. Please come to me. "

CHAPTER XXIVAN INTERRUPTION

"Before you sign this promissory note, " remarked Janet Orme, as Alorareluctantly seated herself at the table, "you must perform the otherpart of your agreement and give me the present address of your father, Jason Jones. "

"He lives in Dorfield, " said Alora. 

"Write his street number--here, on this separate sheet. "

The girl complied. 

"Is it a private house, or is it a studio?"

"A cottage. Father doesn't paint any more. "

"That is very sensible of him, " declared the nurse; "yet I wonder howhe can resist painting. He has always had a passion for the thing andin the old days was never happy without a brush in his hand. He had anidea he could do something worth while, but that was mere delusion, forhe never turned out anything decent or that would sell in the market. Therefore the money he spent for paints, brushes and canvas--money Iworked hard to earn--was absolutely wasted. Does your father keep anyservants?"

"One maid, an Irish girl born in the town. "

"Still economical, I see. Well, that's all the information I require. You have given your word of honor not to notify him that I havediscovered his whereabouts. Is it not so?"

"Yes, " said Alora. 

"Now sign the note. "

Alora, pen in hand, hesitated while she slowly read the paper again. She hated to give fifty thousand dollars to this scheming woman, eventhough the loss of such a sum would not seriously impair her fortune. But what could she do?

"Sign it, girl!" exclaimed Janet, impatiently. 

Alora searched the note for a loophole that would enable her afterwardto repudiate it. She knew nothing of legal phrases, yet the wordingseemed cleverly constructed to defeat any attempt to resist payment. 

"Sign!" cried the woman. With pen hovering over the place where she hadbeen told to write her name, Alora still hesitated and seeing this thenurse's face grew dark with anger. A sudden "click" sounded from thehall door, but neither heard it. 

"Sign!" she repeated, half rising with a threatening gesture. 

"No, don't sign, please, " said a clear voice, and a short, stumpy girlwith red hair and freckled face calmly entered the room and stoodsmilingly before them. 

Janet uttered an exclamation of surprise and annoyance and sank back inher chair, glaring at the intruder. Alora stared in speechlessamazement at the smiling girl, whom she had never seen before. 

"How did you get in here?" demanded Janet angrily. 

"Why, I just unlocked the door and walked in, " was the reply, deliveredin a cheery and somewhat triumphant voice. 

"This is a private apartment. "

"Indeed! I thought it was a prison, " said the girl. "I imagined you, Mrs. Orme, to be a jailer, and this young person--who is Miss AloraJones, I believe--I supposed to be your prisoner. Perhaps I'm wrong, but I guess I'm right. "

The nurse paled. The look she flashed from her half-veiled eyes was adangerous look. She knew, in the instant, that the stranger had come toliberate Alora, but the next instant she reflected that all was notlost, for she had already decided to release her prisoner withoutcompulsion. It was important to her plans, however, that she obtain thepromissory note; so, instantly controlling herself, she lightly touchedAlora's arm and said in her usual soft voice:

"Sign your name, my dear, and then we will talk with this person. "

Alora did not move to obey, for she had caught a signal from thered-headed girl. 

"I object to your signing that paper, " protested the stranger, seatingherself in a vacant chair. "I haven't the faintest idea what it isyou're about to sign, but if I were you I wouldn't do it. "

"It is the price of my liberty, " explained Alora. 

"Well, this is a free country and liberty doesn't cost anything. I've acarriage waiting outside, and I will drive you back to the Colonel andMary Louise free of charge. You won't even have to whack up on the cabhire. "

The nurse slowly rose and faced the girl. 

"Who are you?" she demanded. 

"No one of importance, " was the answer. "I'm just Josie O'Gorman, thedaughter of John O'Gorman, of Washington, who is a lieutenant in thegovernment's secret service. "

"Then you're a detective!"

"The aforesaid John O'Gorman declares I'm not. He says I must learn alot before I become a real detective, so at present I'm justpracticing. Mary Louise is my friend, you know, " she continued, nowaddressing Alora, "and you are a friend of Mary Louise; so, when youmysteriously disappeared, she telegraphed me and I came on to hunt youup. That wasn't an easy job for an amateur detective, I assure you, andit cost me a lot of time and some worry, but glory be! I've now got youlocated and Mrs. Orme's jig is up. "

The nurse moved softly to the door that led into the passage and lockedit, putting the key into her pocket. 

"Now, " said she, with another flash of those curious eyes, "I have twoprisoners. "

Josie laughed. 

"I could almost have sworn you'd try that trick, " she remarked. "It wason the cards and you couldn't resist it. Permit me to say, Mrs. Orme, that you're a rather clever woman, and I admire cleverness even whenit's misdirected. But my Daddy has taught me, in his painstaking way, not to be caught napping. A good soldier provides for a retreat as wellas an advance. I've been on your trail for a long time and only thismorning succeeded in winning the confidence of the cabman who drove youhere. Wasn't sure, of course, that you were still here, until I sawAlora's face at the window a while ago. Then I knew I'd caught you. Thecab is a closed one and holds four inside, so I invited three policemanto accompany me. One is at the back of this house, one at the frontdoor and the third is just outside here on the landing. Probably he canhear us talking. He's a big man, that third policeman, and if I raisemy voice to cry out he could easily batter down the door you havelocked and come to my rescue. _Now_ will you be good, Mrs. Orme?"

The nurse realized her defeat. She deliberately took the note from thetable and tore it up. 

"You have really foiled me, my girl, " she said philosophically, "although if you knew all you would not blame me for what I have done. "

"You've decided not to dig any money out of Alora, then?"

"It wouldn't matter to her, but I have abandoned the idea. However, Ishall insist on making Jason Jones pay me liberally for mydisappointment. Now take the girl and go. Get your things on, Alora. "

Josie regarded her thoughtfully. 

"I had intended to arrest you, Mrs. Orme, " she remarked; "but, honestly, I can't see what good it would do, while it would cause MaryLouise and the dear Colonel a heap of trouble in prosecuting you. So, unless Miss Jones objects----"

"All I want it to get away from here, to be out of her clutches, "asserted Alora. 

"Then let us go. The woman deserves punishment, but doubtless she'llget her just deserts in other ways. Get your things on, my dear; thecab and the policemen are waiting. "

Janet Orme unlocked the door to the passage. Then she stood motionless, with drooping eyelids, while the two girls passed out. Alora, greatlyunnerved and still fearful, clung to the arm of her rescuer. 

When they had gained the street and were about to enter the closedautomobile she asked: "Where are the three policemen?"

"Invisible, " returned Josie, very cheerfully. "I had to invent thatstory, my dear, and the Recording Angel is said to forgive detectivesfor lying. "

She followed Alora into the car and closed the door. 

"Drive to the Blackington, please, " she called to the driver. 

And, as they whirled away, she leaned from the window and waved aparting signal to Mrs. Orme, who stood in the upper window, her facecontorted and scowling with chagrin at the discovery that she had beenoutwitted by a mere girl. 

CHAPTER XXVJASON JONES

The Colonel and Peter Conant had just entered the drawing room of thesuite at the hotel and found Mary Louise absent. This was unusual andunaccountable and they were wondering what could have become of thegirl when the door suddenly burst open and Josie's clear voice criedtriumphantly:

"I've got her! I've captured the missing heiress at last!"

Both men, astonished, rose to their feet as Alora entered and with aburst of tears threw her arms around the old Colonel's neck. For a fewmoments the tableau was dramatic, all being speechless with joy at thereunion. Colonel Hathaway patted Alora's head and comforted the sobbinggirl as tenderly as if she had been his own grandchild--or Mary Louise. 

Josie perched herself lightly on the center-table and swinging her legscomplacently back and forth explained her discovery in a stream ofchatter, for she was justly elated by her success. 

"And to think, " she concluded, "that I never missed a clew! That it wasreally the nurse, Mrs. Orme--Mrs. Jones' old nurse--who stole Alora, according to our suspicions, and that her object was just what Ithought, to get money from that miser Jason Jones! Daddy will bepleased with this triumph; _I'm_ pleased; Mary Louise will be pleased, and--By the way, where is Mary Louise?"

"I don't know, " confessed the Colonel, who had just placed Alora, nowmore self-possessed, in a chair. "I was beginning to worry about herwhen you came in. She seldom leaves these rooms, except for a fewmoments, and even then she tells me, or leaves word, where she isgoing. I spoke to the clerk, when I returned, and he said she had leftthe hotel early this morning, and it's now four o'clock. "

Josie's smile faded and her face became grave. 

"Now, who, " she said, "could have an object in stealing Mary Louise?Complications threaten us in this matter and the first thing we must dois----"

"Oh, Alora!" exclaimed Mary Louise, who had softly opened the door andcaught sight of her friend. Next moment the two girls were locked in anembrace and Josie, a shade of disappointment struggling with her sunnysmile, remarked coolly:

"Very well; that beats the champion female detective out of anotherjob. But I might have known Mary Louise wouldn't get herself stolen; nosuch adventure ever happens to _her. "_

Mary Louise turned to the speaker with an earnest look on her sweetface. 

"An adventure _has_ happened to me, Josie, and--and--I hardly know howto break the news. "

She held Alora at arms' length and looked gravely into her friend'sface. Alora noted the serious expression and said quickly:

"What is it? Bad news for _me?"_

"I--I think not, " replied Mary Louise, hesitatingly; "but it's--it'swonderful news, and I hardly know how to break it to you. "

"The best way, " remarked Josie, much interested, "is to let it out in agush. 'Wonderful' stuff never causes anyone to faint. "

"Alora, " said Mary Louise solemnly, "your father is here. "

"Where?"

"He is just outside, in the corridor. "

"Why doesn't he come in?" asked the Colonel. 

"He needn't have worried about me, " said Alora, in sullen tone, "but Isuppose it was the danger of losing his money that----"

"No, " interrupted Mary Louise; "you mistake me. Jason Jones, the greatartist--a splendid, cultured man and----"

A sharp rap at the door made her pause. Answering the Colonel's summonsa bellboy entered. 

"For Mr. Conant, sir, " he said, offering a telegram. 

The lawyer tore open the envelope as the boy went out and after aglance at it exclaimed in shocked surprise: "Great heavens!"

Then he passed the message to Colonel Hathaway, who in turn read it andpassed it to Josie O'Gorman. Blank silence followed, while Mary Louiseand Alora eyed the others expectantly. 

_"Who_ did you say is outside in the corridor?" demanded Josie in apuzzled tone. 

"Alora's father, " replied Mary Louise. 

"Jason Jones?"

"Jason Jones, " repeated Mary Louise gravely. 

"Well, then, listen to this telegram. It was sent to Mr. Peter Conantfrom Dorfield and says: 'Jason Jones killed by falling from anaeroplane at ten o'clock this morning. Notify his daughter. '"

Alora drew a quick breath and clasped her hands over her heart. Uncongenial as the two had been, Jason Jones was her father--her onlyremaining parent--and the suddenness of his death shocked and horrifiedthe girl. Indeed, all present were horrified, yet Mary Louise seemed tobear the news more composedly than the others--as if it were a minorincident in a great drama. She slipped an arm around her girl friend'swaist and said soothingly:

"Never mind, dear. It is dreadful, I know. What an awful way to die!And yet--and yet, Alora--it may be all for the best. "

Josie slid down from the table. Her active brain was the first to catcha glimmering of what Mary Louise meant. 

"Shall I call that man in?" she asked excitedly, "the man whom you sayis Alora's father?"

"No, " answered Mary Louise. "Let me go for him, please. I--I must tellhim this strange news myself. Try to quiet yourself, Alora, and--and beprepared. I'm going to introduce to you--Jason Jones. "

She uttered the last sentence slowly and with an earnestness thatbewildered all her hearers--except, perhaps, Josie O'Gorman. And thenshe left the room. 

The little group scarcely moved or spoke. 

It seemed an age to them, yet it was only a few moments, when MaryLouise came back, leading by the hand a tall, handsome gentleman whobore in every feature, in every movement, the mark of good birth, culture, and refinement, and in a voice that trembled with, nervousexcitement the girl announced:

"This is Jason Jones--a California artist--the man who marriedAntoinette Seaver. He is Alora's father. And the other--the other----"

"Why, the other was a fraud, of course, " exclaimed Josie. 

CHAPTER XXVIWHAT MARY LOUISE ACCOMPLISHED

I am quite sure it is unnecessary to relate in detail the scene thatfollowed Mary Louise's introduction or the excited inquiries andexplanations which naturally ensued. To those present the scene wasintensely dramatic and never to be forgotten, but such a meetingbetween father and daughter is considered too sacred to be describedhere. 

Mary Louise's intuition had not played her false. She had found at theCongress Hotel another Jason Jones, far different from the one she hadknown, and a few questions elicited the fact that he was indeed thefather of Alora. So, as briefly as she could, she told him how anotherman had usurped his place and seized all of Alora's income, at the sametime willfully depriving the girl of such comforts and accomplishmentsas one in her position should enjoy. 

"And to think, " she added indignantly, "that he is not Jason Jones atall!"

"I believe you are mistaken there, " replied the artist thoughtfully. "Jason is a family name, derived from one of our most eminentancestors, and in my generation it is also borne, I have learned, byone of my second cousins, a Jason Jones who is also a painter andaspires to fame as an artist. I have never met the man, but hisindifferently executed canvases, offered for sale under our commonname, formerly caused me considerable annoyance and perhaps interferedwith my career. But of late I have not heard of this Jason Jones, forsoon after my separation from my wife I went to Southern California andlocated in a little bungalow hidden in a wild canyon of the SantaMonica mountains. There I have secluded myself for years, determined todo some really good work before I returned East to prove my ability. Some time after Antoinette died I saw a notice to that effect in anewspaper, but there were no comments and I did not know that she hadmade me guardian of our child. That was like Antoinette, " he continued, in gentler tones; "she was invariably generous and considerate of myshortcomings, even after we realized we were not fitted to livetogether. Her renunciation of me seemed harsh, at first, for I couldnot understand her ambitions, but in fact she drove me to success. Ihave won the Grand Prize, after all these years of patient labor, andfrom now on my future is assured. "

"Have you never longed for your child?" asked Mary Louisereproachfully. 

"I have, indeed. In imagination I have followed Alora's growth anddevelopment year by year, and one of my most cherished anticipationswhen coming here was to seek out my daughter and make myself known toher. I knew she had been well provided for in worldly goods and I hopedto find her happy and content. If my picture received favorable commentat the exhibition I intended to seek Alora. I did not expect to win theGrand Prize. "

* * * * * * * *

It was this newly discovered Jason Jones and his daughter--who alreadyloved him and shyly clung to this responsive and congenial parent--whowent to Dorfield with the Colonel and Mary Louise and Peter Conant andJosie O'Gorman to attend the obsequies of the other less fortunateJason Jones. Mrs. Orme was there, too; Mrs. Janet Orme Jones; for sheadmitted she was the dead man's wife and told them, in a chastened butstill defiant mood, how the substitution of her husband for the otherartist had come about. 

"Many years ago, when I was nursing in a New York hospital, " she said, "a man was brought in with both arms broken, having been accidentallyknocked down by a street-car. I was appointed to nurse him and learnedfrom him that he was Jason Jones, a poor artist who was, however, justabout to win recognition. He showed me a newspaper clipping that highlypraised a painting then being exhibited at the Metropolitan Museum ofArt, which was signed Jason Jones. I know now that it wasn't hispicture at all, but the work of his cousin, but at the time theclipping deceived me. 

"I was ambitious to become something more than a nurse. I thought thatto be the wife of a famous artist would bring me wealth and a positionin society, so I married Jason Jones--without love--and he married me--also without love--in order to get my wages. He won where I lost, forduring several years I foolishly supported him with my savings, alwaysexpecting him to become famous. At first he attributed his failures tohis broken arms, although they had healed perfectly, and I ignorantlyaccepted the excuse. It was only after years of waiting for the man toprove his ability that I finally woke to the truth--that he had notalent--and I then left him to his own devices. In Chicago I sought toforget my unfortunate past and found regular employment there in myprofession. 

"It was while nursing Mrs. Jones that I overheard her give to DoctorAnstruther the supposed address of her husband, which had beenfurnished her by a casual acquaintance, and tell him to wire JasonJones to come to her at once. I well knew a mistake had been made andthat she had given the doctor my own husband's address--the address ofan entirely different Jason Jones. My first impulse was to undeceiveher, but that would involve humiliating explanations, so I hesitatedand finally decided to remain silent. When the doctor had gone totelegraph and the die was cast, I reflected that my husband, whom Iknew to be sunk in poverty, would ignore the request to come to Chicagoto be reconciled to his dying wife. _My_ Jason wouldn't care whether Ilived or died and wouldn't have spent a cent to be reconciled with me. For of course he would think it was I who asked for him, since he wouldknow nothing of Antoinette Seaver Jones or that she was the wife of hisdistant relative, the other Jason Jones. 

"He did, indeed, answer Doctor Anstruther by saying he would not comeunless his expenses were advanced, so the good doctor launched thefuture deception by sending him ample funds. I knew of this action andwondered what I ought to do. There would be a terrible mix-up when myhusband appeared, and I realized how disappointed the sick woman wouldbe. Knowing her condition to be dangerous, I feared the shock wouldkill her, which it really did, for still I kept silent. I told myselfthat I had not aided in the deception in any way, that it was a trickof fate, and I could not be blamed. I thought that when DoctorAnstruther met my husband there would be explanations and the truthwould come out, but somehow that did not happen. Jason Jones walkedinto Antoinette Seaver Jones' room expecting to find _me_ dying, andsaw a strange woman in the bed and his wife--in good health--standingbefore him. He let out an oath in his surprise and my patient, who hadraised up in bed to stare at him, uttered a low moan and fell back onher pillow, dead. I saw the tragedy and involuntarily screamed, andJason Jones saw she was dead and cried out in fear. I had just time torecover my wits and whisper to him to keep his mouth shut and I wouldmake him rich when Doctor Anstruther hurried into the room. 

"The whole thing was unpremeditated up to that time, but now I assistedfate, for I had witnessed Mrs. Jones' will and knew well its contents. No one seemed to know there were two artists named Jason Jones andeveryone accepted my husband as Alora's father and the one entitled toher guardianship and to profit by the terms of the will. 

"An hour after Mrs. Jones died I secured a secret interview with myhusband, who until then had been thoroughly bewildered, and explainedto him that the mistake in identity would, if he took prompt advantageof it, give him the control of an enormous income for seven years--until the child reached the age of eighteen. He was fearful, at first, that the other Jason Jones would appear and prosecute him forswindling, but as the husband of Antoinette Seaver had not been heardfrom in years, even by his own wife, I induced him to accept the risk. It was I who virtually put that income into my husband's hands, and inreturn he agreed to supply me with whatever money I demanded, up to ahalf of his receipts. But he proved that there is not always honoramong thieves, for after he had been made legal executor of the estateand his fears had somewhat subsided he endeavored to keep all the moneyfor himself and begrudged me the one or two instalments I forced him togive me. Strangely enough, this formerly poverty-stricken artist nowdeveloped a love of accumulation--a miserly love for the money itself, and hated to spend any of it even on himself or on the girl to whom heowed his good fortune. The coward actually ran away and hid himself inEurope, and I, having spent all the money he had given me, with theidea I had an inexhaustible fund to draw upon, was forced to turn nurseagain. 

"After three years I had saved enough to follow him to Europe, where Ilocated him at a lonely villa in Italy. Its very loneliness was myundoing, for he made a husky servant lock me up in an outhouse andthere I was held a prisoner until Jason had again escaped to America. He thought he could hide better in the United States and that Iwouldn't have the money to follow him there, but I had fortunatelysaved enough for my return passage. By the time I got home, however, hehad completely disappeared and all my efforts failed to locate him. SoI returned to Chicago and again resumed my profession. 

"You will say I might have denounced him as an impostor and made thepolice hunt him up, but that would have ruined my chances of evergetting another penny of the money and might have involved mepersonally. Jason knew that, and it made him bold to defy me. Isilently bided my time, believing that fate would one day put the manin my power. 

"You know how I happened to find Alora in Chicago and how I lured herto my home and kept her there a prisoner. "

It was found that the dead man had made large investments in his ownname, and as he had left no will Janet declared that this property nowbelonged to her, as his widow. Lawyer Conant, however, assured her thatas the money had never been legally her husband's, but was secured byhim under false pretenses, all the investments and securities purchasedwith it must be transferred to the real Jason Jones, to whom they nowbelonged. The court would attend to that matter. 

"And it serves you right, madam, " added Peter Conant, "for concoctingthe plot to swindle Alora's father out of the money his dead wifeintended him to have. You are not properly punished, for you should besent to jail, but your disappointment will prove a slight punishment, at least. "

"So far as I knew, " answered Janet, defending her crime, "Alora'sfather was either dead or hidden in some corner of the world where hecould never be found. To my knowledge there was no such personexistent, so the substitution of my husband for him did him no injuryand merely kept the income out of the clutches of paid executors. Hadthe right man appeared, at any time during these four years, to claimhis child and the money, he might easily have secured them by provinghis identity. So the fault was his as much as mine. "

Jason Jones had personally listened to the woman's confession, whichfilled him with wonder. While severely condemning her unscrupulousmethods he refused to prosecute her, although Mr. Conant urged him todo so, and even carried his generosity to the extent of presenting herwith one of her dead husband's small investments, obtaining from her inreturn the promise to lead an honest and respectable life. 

It had been the artist's intention to return to his Californiabungalow, but after the probate court had acknowledged him andtransferred to him the guardianship of his daughter, he decided todevote the coming years to Alora and endeavor to recompense her withfatherly devotion for the privations and unhappiness she had formerlyendured. 

Alora did not wish to be separated from Mary Louise, so her fatherpurchased the handsome residence of Senator Huling, which was situateddirectly opposite to that of Colonel Hathaway in Dorfield, andsucceeded in making it a real home for his daughter. 

Josie O'Gorman went back to Washington well pleased with her success, although she said with a little grimace of feigned regret:

"I did pretty well, for an amateur, for I tackled a tough case and wonout; but, after all, it was Mary Louise who solved the mystery andrestored Alora to her honest-for-true father. "