.

heavy coat buttoned to the chin. Near him frolicked a small terrier.

      "He may be a gardener called in to do the trimming,"suggested the assistant.

      "I think we'll find that he belongs here,"said Ashton-Kirk. "That is a Scottish terrier running about there; and that breed is never friendly with strangers."

      There was a piano being played somewhere in the house; the touch was sure and soft, the air mournful and full of minors. They had listened but a moment, however, when Warwick entered the room.

      There was a flush in his cheeks and an excited sparkle in his eyes; as he spoke his voice shook a little as though not perfectly under control.

      "Thank you,"he said, eagerly, as he shook hands. "I am glad that you have come."

      "Something has happened?"

      "Yes. A special delivery letter came for Dr. Morse about an hour ago. A few moments after receiving it I heard him shouting aloud in the library, and apparently smashing things in his rage."

      "Did you go to him?"

      "No. When he is that way, we have found it a better plan to leave him alone. After venting his rage in the way I have just mentioned, he rushed from the place."

      Ashton-Kirk did not immediately comment upon this; his eyes were upon the man clipping the hedge.

      "Who is that?"asked he.

      Warwick followed his glance.

      "Oh, a young fellow whom the doctor employs about the place. He is a Pole, and came about a month ago; he seems very intelligent, and I know he is hard up. Morse knew his father somewhere, I believe."

      "I see."The speaker turned from the window.

      "You were saying that Dr. Morse rushed from the house in a passion."

      "Yes. And I went at once into the library. Upon his desk I found this, which was, more than likely, the cause of the outburst."

      He handed Ashton-Kirk a sheet of paper; in the center was a cross, the only peculiarity of which was that the down stroke was red, and the other was blue. This the secret agent inspected with interest.

      "I believe you said that he cried aloud in the library—did you catch any words?"

      "No. But Miss Corbin did. She told me that——"

      "Wait!"Ashton-Kirk halted him. "I would like to speak to Miss Corbin personally."

      "Ah, yes. I suppose it would be best."

      Warwick left the room. Instantly Ashton-Kirk was at the window, and after a glance, he laughed softly.

      "Fuller,"said he, "if you saw a man weeding a garden and another man clipping a hedge near by; and if you noticed that they gradually and almost imperceptibly worked toward each other, what should you think?"

      Fuller looked out at the two stooping figures; the terrier had stopped his capering and lay gnawing one of the cuttings from the hedge, which he held between his paws.

      "They are nearer to each other,"said Fuller. "And look! they never exchange a glance. It seems to me,"in the low, rapid tone of one to whom an idea had just occurred, "that they desire to speak to each other, but would rather not be observed."

      Before the secret agent could reply to this, Warwick reëntered, and with him was a girl. She was slight and dark and dressed in white. Her most remarkable feature was her eyes; they were big and black and wonderful. Her manner was hushed and fearful; her voice, when she spoke, was sunk almost to a whisper.

      "Philip tells me that you are a very gifted man,"she said, after Warwick had spoken the words of presentation. "He says that hidden things are plain to you. I do not understand how or why this is, but nevertheless I am glad that you have come. And I only hope,"here one of the slim, white hands trembled upon his sleeve, "that you have come in time."

      "I think,"said Ashton-Kirk, quietly, "that you had better make an effort to control yourself. You are cold with fear. It is necessary that you answer a few questions; so try and calm yourself—even if only for that reason."

      "I can't! I can't!"She made a despairing sort of gesture, the great eyes filled with a thrilling terror. "How can I be calm when I read such things in his face?"One hand was upon the arm of the secret agent, the other upon that of young Warwick; she looked first at one and then the other. "Death is near to him,"she said. "It is very near to him."

      "No, no!"cried the young Englishman.

      "I tell you, yes! And, perhaps, it is even nearer than I dream. It may be upon the very threshold."

      "My dear girl,"cried Warwick.

      "Have you been blind, Philip?"she asked in the same whispering voice as before. "Have you been blind that you have not seen? But no,"her tone changing tenderly, "it is not to be expected of you. He has not been a father to you."

      "No,"said Warwick, and somehow a second meaning seemed to lurk behind the words, "he has not."

      The girl turned to Ashton-Kirk.

      "Never,"she said, "has any one been better or kinder than Dr. Morse has been to me. Everything that I have I owe to him. And so can you wonder that I have been quick to see?"

      "Quick to see—what?"

      "The fear,"she answered, "the fear which has gradually taken possession of him. You have seen some of it,"to Warwick, "but not all. It is terror of the unseen, of the unknown. It is fear of a danger which he does not understand."

      "You think, then, that Dr. Morse does not know the meaning of these grotesque messages which he has been receiving?"

      "I know that he does not. I have always known it; but just how, I cannot say. This evening, upon opening the letter, he rushed out of the library. I happened to be passing the hall, and heard him cry out: 'Be plain! Who are you? What do you want?'"

      "Is that all you heard?"

      "Yes; for with the last word he threw open the front door and was gone."

      Ashton-Kirk glanced at the two-colored cross.

      "Perhaps,"said he, "if we could find the envelope which this came in, it would tell us something."

      "Will you come into the library?"said Warwick.

      As they were moving toward the door, Ashton-Kirk whispered a few quick words to Fuller; the latter nodded and took a seat by the window, partly screened by a hanging and apparently much interested in the lawn.

      The library was a large, high ceilinged room, darkly paneled and with a smoothly polished floor. The chairs were massive oak affairs and there were two huge, flat-topped desks. The bookcases were stuffed with serious, well-handled tomes; at one side was a highboy, the many drawers of which were furnished with glass knobs. Upon the top of this was a large English traveling bag, the strap of which was tightly buckled.

      From the floor near one of the desks Warwick picked up a torn envelope.

      "That is what the paper came in,"said he. "I know, because it was I who handed it to him."

      "Postmarked at three o'clock this afternoon at the central station,"said Ashton-Kirk. "And the address was written on a typewriter."He threw the envelope upon the desk. "We'll learn nothing from that, except, perhaps, that the sender is one who understands the value of keeping hidden."

      Just then a door was heard to open and close heavily. At the sound Ashton-Kirk noted the girl go swiftly to Warwick's side and whisper something hurriedly.

      "No,"said he, and there was just a trace of sharpness in his tone. "Of course not."

      Quick steps were heard in the hall, then a man entered the room.

      "Uncle,"said Stella Corbin.

      She went to him and put an arm about him, but his feverishly burning eyes singled out the stranger.

      "It is a friend of Philip's—Mr. Ashton-Kirk. He has been kind enough to visit us."