saying they were going around the grounds to hunt for clues.
Crosby looked after them, a little amusedly. "They won't see any clues, if they stumble over them!" he said. "They don't know there's anything in this world but each other."
"That's so," said Dorothy; "aren't they desperately in love? It must be beautiful to be in love like that!"
It was almost unthinkingly that Dorothy spoke thus out of the fulness of her heart. Though she did love Chapin, she had no intention of confessing it or even letting it be suspected; for Ernest Chapin was a poor man, and Dorothy Duncan was a girl who fully intended to marry money.
But the two men who listened to this speech were both deeply in love with her, and each determined then and there that she should yet be desperately in love with him. How this desirable state of things was to be brought about, neither knew, but each was none the less positive in his intention.
A little later, Miss Wadsworth claimed Crosby's attention, and Ernest Chapin was left alone with Dorothy.
"Listen to me," he said, without preamble. "That detective is coming at ten o'clock, and I want to remind you, once more, to say nothing about Arnold's seeing us on the balcony together. The detective will question you, but no good can possibly come of your telling of that scene, and it might result in harm."
"Well, I won't; but I want you to tell me what Justin said to you after I left you."
"Nothing of any importance—as I told you before."
"Was he angry?"
"Yes, he was." And then, as if on a sudden impulse, Chapin whispered earnestly to the girl, "Dorothy, darling, if you'll only admit you love me—I know you do—I'll tell you everything about it. What Arnold said, and all that happened. And you can confide in me, too."
Dorothy's eyes opened wide. "Ernest, you don't mean that you know anything about Justin's going away!"
"I'll tell you nothing," he returned doggedly, "until you tell me what I ask. Tell me, dear." Dorothy looked at him with a gentle tenderness. "Ernest," she said softly, "this isn't the time or place for such a question."
"Yes, it is, darling. There couldn't be a more beautiful place than this terrace, with the bright sunshine and blue sky above, and no one near to overhear us. Answer me, Dorothy. Crown my happiness of loving you, by your dear confession that you love me."
Dorothy was strongly tempted to tell this man that she did love him. She longed to see his eyes light up with the happiness that she knew such an admission would bring. Then her glance roved out over the wide domain spread out before her: the beautiful terrace on which they stood, and the great mansion behind them. Could she give up all this for her love of Ernest Chapin? It didn't seem to her that she could. Then, at the intrusion of a sudden thought, she ignored her lover's pleading, and said, "As Justin's secretary, Mr. Chapin, of course you know all about his business matters. If he should—if he should never come back, who would own White Birches?"
"I am not quite sure. If Mr. Arnold made no will, his whole estate will go to Campbell Crosby; but if he made a will—and I'm quite sure he did, though I've never seen it—of course the disposition of his fortune will be in accordance with that. I do know that he intended to make a will before his marriage, leaving everything to you, but whether he has done so or not, I'm not sure."
"His lawyers will know, won't they?"
"Yes; unless he made merely a private memorandum, which, if signed, will be valid. But, Dorothy, you talk as if he were dead! And, oh, child, if he is, if he should be, you don't mean,—you can't mean, that you want to know who inherits White Birches—to know where to turn your affections next!"
Dorothy had the grace to look ashamed of herself, and, moved by Chapin's evident misery, she said softly, "If Justin never returns, there is only one place for my affections."
The look she gave Chapin left no doubt of her meaning, and, taking both her hands in his, he said, "Oh, darling, you've admitted it at last! You make me so happy, dear, and, whether Arnold returns or not, he shall never claim you after that admission!"
"Oh, yes, he will! I'm bound to him, and of course he will return, and of course I shall marry him. But now tell me what he said to you. You promised you would."
"He wasn't at all nice, dear. He accused me of being a traitor to him, and of acting dishonorably in loving the girl he was engaged to."
"Well, it isn't very honorable, is it?"
"All's fair in love and war. And, any way, if I could win you only through dishonor, I would pause at no crime!"
"Oh, Ernest, what a dreadful speech! Don't say such things. You make me shiver!"
"But it's true, Dorothy: I would hesitate at nothing, if you were the reward."
Just then Gale and Leila returned from a walk through the grounds, and though Dorothy greeted them casually, as if her conversation with Chapin were most unimportant, the man could not so easily shake off a feeling of self-consciousness. To hide it, he became glum and taciturn, responding in monosyllables, when he spoke at all.
"We didn't find any clues around the place," said Leila. "Now we're going to look through the house. Mr. Gale and I have discovered that we both have the 'detective instinct,' and we're working together on this case." It was clear to the most incurious observer that Gale and Leila were more interested in their discoveries about each other than in their "case," but Dorothy had affairs of her own on her mind, and Chapin was uninterested, so the two amateur detectives passed on into the house to continue their search.
In a few moments Leila came running back. "Dorothy," she cried, "did you take a green sofa-pillow from the couch in the living-room? The one embroidered in gold thread?"
"No, Leila, I haven't seen it. Why should I take a sofa-cushion from its place?"
"Well, it's gone; and nobody knows anything about it, and we think it is a clue!"
"Oh, Leila, how ridiculous! How could a missing sofa-pillow be a clue? Probably one of the maids took it to mend it, or something."
"No," and Leila spoke positively; "it didn't need mending. It was a new one, and it was so pretty that I was going to copy the embroidery. That's the way I happened to miss it. It's gone, and nobody knows anything about it!"
"It does seem queer," said Gale, who had followed Leila out.
"Fiddlesticks!" said Dorothy. "If you two people weren't so anxious to make anything serve as a clue, you'd know that that sofa-pillow would turn up somewhere. Do you suppose Justin kidnapped it and took it away, or do you suppose a burglar came in through a keyhole, purposely to get it?"
Ernest Chaplin looked thoughtful. "Did it have a thick gold cord all round it, and tassels at one corner?" he asked.
"Yes," answered Leila eagerly. "Did you take it away, Mr. Chapin?"
"No," and Ernest Chapin spoke slowly; "I remember having seen it, that is all."
Leila and Gale went away to make further search for the sofa-pillow, and Chapin fell into a brown study, from which even Dorothy's chatter failed to rouse him.
Chapter XIII.
The Detective
"I know," said Leila, thoughtfully, her pretty blonde head on one side, "that it seems silly to Dorothy, but I do believe that sofa-pillow has something to do with the mystery."
"I'm sure it has," said Gale, who was approaching that point where if Leila had said the phase of the moon was responsible for Arnold's disappearance, he would have agreed with her. "But for the life of me, I can't see how."
"Nor I," and Leila's straight brows contracted as she puzzled over the matter. "But you know, Mr. Gale, it is queer that it should get away so suddenly, and,