Part 4 (1/2)

Mark opened his letter. It was from the lady of the tree--only a few lines--an invitation to tea that afternoon at the house behind the great wall. Twice he read it over.

”Dear Mr. Griffin: Monsignore is coming to tea at four o'clock to-day.

Won't you come with him? He likes you--that I know--and he always looks lonesome when he comes alone, with only two women to talk to.

Sincerely, Ruth Atheson.”

That was all. The letter went into Mark's pocket as he saw Saunders looking over the top of his paper.

”Getting acquainted in Siha.s.set pretty quickly, eh?” ventured the detective.

”Yes,” replied Mark, ”bad pays get acquainted fast.” The reply was obviously inadequate, but Mark wanted the detective to know. Saunders took the bait, hook and all.

”Siha.s.set's getting up in the world,” he commented. ”Square, tinted envelopes for bills were just coming in at New York two weeks ago.”

Both gentlemen were evidently quite pleased with themselves. Saunders took the cigar Mark offered, and they sat talking over first editions until ten.

”Going out?” Saunders asked, as Mark threw away his cigar and rose.

Something in his tone made Mark think he wanted him to go. Why?

”Just for a little while. Want to go?”

”No, I'm going to write letters. I'll go out later.”

Mark understood. Saunders suspected him to be an accomplice of the woman and intended to search his room. Mark thought quickly.

Immediate action was necessary; there were important papers in his room, and he didn't care to have his ident.i.ty known just now. Then he smiled cheerfully, for his whole plan of action was suddenly clear.

Not only would he guard his papers, but he'd keep the detective guessing--guessing _hard_. He walked to the desk and addressed the clerk:

”Has any of the town banks a safety deposit vault for the public?”

”Yes, sir. The National has one and its terms are very reasonable.”

Mark went to his room, and carefully gathered every sc.r.a.p of paper.

The useless went into the old stove which had stood all summer waiting the winter's need; the others he carefully placed in his pocket. Then he went out. At the bank he rented a box and left the papers he didn't want Saunders to see. He felt satisfied that nothing Saunders found would relieve him of suspicion. The burning of the papers would make the detective all the more certain that Mark ought to be watched. That would help Miss Atheson by keeping the detective on the wrong scent.

At noon Mark went to his room to wash before lunch. Saunders had not been very clever. There was a tell-tale smudge on the stove--a smudge made by a hand that had blackened itself by diving down into the ashes to search among the burned papers. Mark knew that Saunders had lost no time in searching his room, and he was happy to be still under suspicion.

But Mark was not so happy in contemplating the rest of the situation.

He was getting deeper into a game he knew nothing about. What was the reason for the suspicion against the girl? Could she be a thief--or worse? Mark had heard of pretty criminals before, and he knew that beauty without is no guarantee of virtue within. But he had resolved to go through with the adventure, and he would not change his mind. He argued, too, that it was not entirely the beauty of Ruth Atheson that interested him. There was an indefinable ”something else.” Anyhow, innocent or guilty, he made up his mind to stand by her.

At lunch he met Saunders again and found him overly friendly, even anxious to talk. The detective opened the conversation.

”Going to see the Padre again?”

”I have an engagement with him this afternoon. I rather like the Padre!”

”Sure you do,” said the detective. ”Everybody does. The Padre's a wonder, and the last man one might expect to find in a little parish like this.”

Mark wanted to learn more on that score.