# Top-Notch Magazine/Volume 29/Number 4/Puzzles for Two

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Extracted from Top-Notch, 15 Feb 1917, pp. 96–112. Title illustration may be omitted.
See how they solved them: a bright tale of athletic people.
Puzzles for Two ~ $^{By}$ Burt L. Standish.
(A COMPLETE NOVELETTE)

### CHAPTER I.
#### Not Wholly Cheated.

Having followed the girl along the path, with the stealthy step of a panther tracking its prey, Babson paused and watched her when she foolhardily ventured out to the very edge of a high cliff. He saw her bend far over and look downward at the placid sea that, in full flood and about to turn, was lapping softly against the smooth base of the perpendicular rock. Her figure was slender and graceful. The summer sunshine shimmered on her bronze-colored hair.
“I hope she falls!” thought Babson.
As if the wish in his heart had given her a sharp thrust that caused her to lose her balance, she suddenly lurched outward and fell, uttering a scream.
Babson leaped forward. He was dressed in light flannels, and he did not have to stop to remove a garment. He felt that there was no time to waste. And in his great hurry he also lost his balance, his feet slipping beneath him as he plunged from the top of the cliff. As a result, instead of diving cleanly into the water, he turned over awkwardly in the air and struck the surface flat upon his stomach with an impact that quite knocked his breath out of him. He sank.
Next thing Babson knew he was choking, strangling, gasping for air, and somebody or something seemed to be trying to remove his scalp by tearing it loose by main force. Expelling a small part of the ocean that had been seeking to pour down his throat, he managed to gulp in a somewhat painful breath, wondering the while what was happening to him.
“Be quiet!” said a calm and musical voice. “If you don't kick or struggle, I can get you out. If you do kick, I'll have to hit you on the temple to stun you. Don't grab at me unless you want to get hit.”
It was the girl. She had him by the hair of the head, in which manner she had brought him back to the surface. She was astonishingly cool and apparently quite able to take care of herself—and him, too. This was what his attempt at a gallant rescue had brought him to! Babson felt very foolish and ridiculous. Being still rather helpless from the shock of the impact that had knocked the breath out of him, he made no immediate effort to help himself.
“That's right,” she said. “That's sensible. If I could feel sure you wouldn't grab me round the neck, I'd let you put your hands on my shoulders. I could support you that way and be free to swim with both hands at the same time.”
“I won't grab you,” promised Babson wheezily and meekly.
When his hands were on her shoulders, the girl struck out, swimming strongly and easily in spite of her short skirt. She kept at a safe distance from the base of the cliff, although the movement of the tide was so sluggish that there was little danger that it would wash them against it.
“You're a good swimmer,” said Babson admiringly.
“Don't worry,” she answered. “I am.”
“It's quite a long distance to some place where we can land.”
“All right. Don't be afraid. I'll get you there.”
Babson was not afraid; he was chagrined. Instead of rescuing her, he was being rescued by her. The whole affair had gone wrong.
“I think you had better let me go, and take care of yourself,” he said. “Just now I'd a little rather drown than not.”
“Don't be silly!” she flung back at him. “Keep your hands on my shoulders.”
There was a pause during which she made steady progress with regular and powerful strokes. His wonderment at the strength and skill of such a slender creature grew.
“I can swim, too,” he stated presently.
“If you swim as well as you dive,” she returned, “you'll get your wish and drown, as sure as you try it.”
That cut deeply. “I slipped when I jumped from the top of the cliff,” he protested. “I'll show you that I can swim!”
He had now fully regained his breath. Removing his hands from her shoulders, he forged along beside her. She watched him a moment, and then a whimsical little smile curved her full lips. An odd, dancing light of impishness seemed to flicker in her blue eyes.
“You do swim very well,” she admitted. “That makes it much easier.”
“For you, but not for me,” said Babson. “I thought I was going to rescue you from drowning, and my expectations were stepped on. Fate cheated me.” He tried to smile back at her, but there was keen disappointment in that smile.
They swam along side by side. The perpendicular face of the cliff was left behind. Ahead of them, at some admittance, was a cleft among the rocks, where they could land and climb upward to the path.
“You seem to feel downcast over it,” the girl remarked after a time.
“Why not? I pictured myself as a life-saver and a hero. That picture is turned toward the wall. I'm merely a joke. There's only one compensation.”
“What's that?”
“I've found a chance to speak to you. For a week I've been trying for that, but I couldn't discover or devise any way of breaking through the ice of your exclusiveness and reserve. I was getting pretty desperate, Miss Burke.”
Again he caught the flicker of that dancing light of impishness in her eyes as she glanced toward him. There was something about it both fascinating and puzzling. That, however, was not strange; from the very first he had been captivated by this mysterious and distant girl who had seemed so utterly unapproachable.
Suddenly she gave a little gasp, uttered a faint cry, ceased to go forward with steady strokes, and twisted round in the water in an oddly contorted way. Her face seemed contracted by pain.
“What is it?” Babson asked quickly, turning toward her.
“Cramp,” she answered. “Oh! It—it's caught me in the side. I can't——”
He had reached her. “Steady!” he said. “Don't struggle, please. I'll get you—— By Jove!”
Babson made a grab at her as she went under, and brought her back to the surface. To his amazement, she seemed to try to clasp him about the shoulders with her arms, and he had to make an effort to hold her off. It was no simple matter, at that. As if the cramp had wholly robbed her of coolness and reason, she continued to struggle.
He begged her to listen. He pleaded with her, tried to reason with her. She got hold of him and dragged his head under, but he broke her hold quickly. Nevertheless, in some way she continued to baffle his efforts to get such a hold upon her clothing as would enable him to continue to swim toward the cleft and carry her along.
“I'm afraid I've got to be rough with you,” he said finally.
Her bronze-colored hair was swirling about her shoulders in a wet and tangled mass. Into it Babson fastened the grip of one powerful hand, and was able to hold her off while he fought his way steadily toward the cleft. As he drew near that spot her struggles subsided, and he was relieved when he was able to lift her out without dragging her forth from the water by the hair of her head.
The girl lay limp and dripping upon the wet rocks, her eyes closed. After resting a little to recover his breath, Babson picked her up in his arms and began to climb up through the cleft toward the path.

### CHAPTER II.
#### A Shock to Vanity.

When the path was reached, Babson lowered her to the ground. It had been a hard climb with such a load, and he was breathing just a trifle more quickly than usual. An ordinarily strong and healthy man would have been panting and done up, quite.
Miss Burke sat up and looked at him. “You must be in fine condition,” she said. “I didn't think you could do it.”
The flush in Babson's cheeks deepened a little. “Are you feeling all right now?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Babson.”
“You know my name!”
“You know mine.”
“I took pains to learn it the first day saw you.”
“That was——”
“Tuesday, a week ago.”
“That's the day I heard the clerk at the hotel call you Mr. Babson,” the girl told him, and he fancied he again caught a flicker of impishness in her eyes.
“And you—you remembered it,” he stammered. “I'm surprised and—and flattered.”
“I was practically forced to remember it. I encountered you every turn I made. I couldn't seem to make a move without meeting you. Really, Mr. Babson, you did it very badly.”
His color grew deeper. “I presume I did,” he admitted; “but I couldn't find anybody to introduce me to you. You didn't seem to have a single acquaintance at the hotel except the grim, middle-aged lady who seems to be your bodyguard. If her eyes were daggers, I'd have been dead some days ago.”
“Aunt Myra isn't disposed to look with favor on strange young men.”
“How did you escape from her to-day? It's the first time I've known her to let you get out of her sight.”
“I knew you'd be watching for me, and I wanted to see if you would follow me. I told her to stay in her room.”
“You—you told her! And she minded you?”
“She always does.”
“And you wanted to see if I would follow you!” exclaimed Babson. “I'll be—hanged!”
Miss Burke bowed her head suddenly, putting her hand to her side.
“The cramp?” Babson questioned solicitously. “You are feeling it still?”
“Not at all,” she replied, her shoulders, over which her wet hair was flowing, shaking a little. “It's all right now.” But her voice was oddly choked.
“I'm very sorry,” said Babson. “I know I've been a wretched nuisance. I know I've annoyed you. I admit that my manners have been execrable. And I did follow you, like a—like a cad. Now you know just the sort of person I am. No, you don't! While I'm about it, I'll 'fess up the whole business. I'm a brute! I watched you go out upon that cliff. I knew it was dangerous when you went so near the edge. I should have warned you. I didn't. I hoped you'd fall over, just exactly the way you did.”
Miss Burke continuned to keep her head bent, her hand pressed to her side, her shoulders moving slightly.
“I was determined to make your acquaintance somehow,” Babson went on desperately. “I thought if you fell into the sea I could rescue you, and then you'd simply have to know me and let me talk to you. I wanted you to fall, and you fell. I feel now as if I had pushed you from the cliff.”
She looked up at him. She was laughing. “I didn't fall,” she said; “I jumped. I merely pretended to fall.”
Again the breath was quite knocked out of Babson. His mouth open, he stared at her.
All at once she stopped laughing. “It was rather a shabby trick, wasn't it?” she said contritely.
Babson gulped. “You jumped! What for?”
“To see if you would jump after me. I wanted an adventure. Goodness knows it's dull enough around here! And I wanted to find out what sort of stuff you were made of. I didn't expect you to flop down all sprawling, if you jumped at all, and get the wind knocked out of you.”
“That happened because I was in such a hurry to dive in after you. I give you my word, that's not my usual style of diving. Under normal conditions, I can do it better than that.”
“I'll take your word for it,” she agreed. “You really proved that you were an excellent swimmer after—when I——”
“When you were taken with that cramp,” he finished. “Thank fortune! Only for that, I'd be ashamed ever again to look at my image in a mirror. If I knew you better, I think I'd scold you now. You see how foolish it was for you to take such a chance and jump off the cliff. If I hadn't followed you, and if I hadn't been a fairly good swimmer, you would have drowned, you know.”
Again the girl concealed her face by bowing her head, and again Babson saw her shoulders moving. A sudden and horrible suspicion assailed him. His lips closed, and, although he was at most times a good-looking young man, his face became somewhat unpleasant of aspect.
“I think,” he said coldly, “that you are laughing at me, Miss Burke.”
Her shoulders shook still more.
“Go on!” he urged. “Complete my humiliation! Tell me you didn't have a cramp at all!”
Miss Burke sprang up and stood before him. “I'm really sorry!” she declared, suppressing the laughter she had sought in vain to hold entirely in check. “But you seemed to feel so dreadfully cut up because you had made such a fizzle of your attempt to rescue me. I did it from impulse. I thought I'd make you feel better. And I wanted to see how you'd do it. I wondered if you would try to stun me with your fist to stop me from struggling. You know I threatened to do that to you. But you didn't strike me.”
“I didn't have to,” Babson returned harshly. “If I had thought it absolutely necessary, I would have done so.”
“I didn't mean to let you know I had fooled you about that. Now you're angry, and I suppose you have a right to be. You see, I'm a very shameless and unreliable girl. I know what you think of me.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then you've got me beaten; I don't know what I think of you.”
Babson was gazing at her steadily, his lips narrowed a trifle, his grim face unrelaxed. Somehow his manner awed her a little.
“If you'll be good enough to walk back to the hotel with me——” Miss Burke began, almost timidly. “I'm dripping, and I don't want to make explanations to anybody. I'll have to ask you to be obliging enough to do that—if it isn't asking too much.”
“Very well.”
The path was narrow. Babson followed her. Her wet clothing clung to her supple, slender figure; her dripping hair flowed down her back. She walked on steadily, her head bowed a little. By a rare chance, they did not meet anybody on the way.
The path grew wider before they came in sight of the hotel and the cottages of Pine Point, and Babson quickened his stride, coming up beside her.
“Miss Burke,” he said, “you must think I'm a pretty poor sport. I guess I deserved all that came to me. I've annoyed you, but you've had your laugh at me. I suppose I must be rather vain, and so it hurt my pride. However, even if I am vain, I'm not a very good liar, and I told you the truth about trying to meet you in a legitimate way. Now you've seen me fail to take a joke gracefully, and you've got my measure. Of course I know what you must think of me.”
“Do you?” she asked, a faint smile curving her lips.
“Why—yes,” he hesitated.
“Then you've got me beaten,” she answered, in his own words. “I don't know. Let's walk faster. People will be staring at us in a minute.”

### CHAPTER III.
#### Something That Was Hidden.

Roger Babson and Ruth Burke sat on the broad veranda of the Pine Point Hotel and chatted. Near at hand, grim as the Sphinx, sat Ruth's aunt, engaged upon some fancywork. Fortunately she was a trifle deaf. That she did not fully approve of the growing intimacy between her niece and a good-looking young man whom nobody seemed to know anything about seemed indicated by her occasional sharp and frowning glances at the pair.
Farther away sat a small group of the women guests of the hotel. They were prim and proper persons. Most of them were quite elderly. A glance at this group would have enlightened any one as to why the Pine Point Hotel was familiarly known as “The Old Ladies' Home.” At this moment, with their heads rather' close together and their voices discreetly subdued, they were industriously hunting for scandal.
“And for the past two days they've been together almost all the time,” gurgled Mrs. Higgins, a fleshy and asthmatic widow. “I'd like to know who ever introduced them.”
“My dear,” said Mrs. Topple, a long-nosed and angular person, “such people do not have to be introduced. They just get acquainted.”
“Terrible!” murmured Miss Pierce, an anemic and colorless old maid. “Shocking!”
“I think,” said Miss Perkins, the schoolmistress, tipping her head to gaze over her spectacles, “that I was the first one around here to see them together. They came from the direction of the cliffs, and both were wringing wet. When I tried to find out what had happened, I was told that they had decided to go in bathing and couldn't wait to get their bathing suits. The idea!”
“And that's all, so far as I know, that anybody has been told about it,” wheezed Mrs. Higgins indignantly. “Of course it's preposterous.”
“I'm absolutely convinced,” put in Mrs. Barlow, who had a firm jaw and a flinty eye, “that that girl is a clever and designing creature, and it's quite probable that she has a past. If not, why doesn't somebody know something about her? I think she's an actress. She registered from New York.”
“Isn't it terrible for such a person actually to take possession of the only single man in the hotel?” remarked Miss Pierce, sighing. “And him such a fine-looking, gentlemanly young man, too!”
“But who knows anything about him except that he registered from New York, also?” demanded Mrs. Barlow. “He behaved queer, keeping off by himself all the time, before he met her. I'm absolutely convinced that there's something wrong with him. Perhaps he's an absconder or something like that.”
At that moment Miss Burke was saying: “There is no doubt, Mr. Babson, but that you are guilty of encouraging crime, at least.”
“Perhaps that is true,” Babson admitted, without the least shame, even with a brazen show of mild amusement; “but I contend that you are equally guilty. We are both accessories.”
He did not falter beneath the reproving gaze of her blue eyes, and presently she laughed lightly.
“Slander,” she said, “is punishable by law, and I doubt if those ladies yonder have left either of us a shred of character. We've encouraged them in their defamations; therefore, as you say, I suppose we're accessories to the crime. Why, you've never even told me anything in particular about yourself. What black secret are you hiding?”
“Listen,” he urged, with a mock air of seriousness. “If I must admit it to you, I was born of poor but honest parents. Both are dead. A doting aunt, who had a little money, sent me to college, where I learned a great many things which I have since found to be useless and impractical. My aunt invested in a land boom that blew up, and died penniless. Therefore, having got my sheepskin, I found that I'd got to get out and hustle.
“Instead of being eminently qualified to succeed in business life,” Babson went on, “as I fancied I was, I found myself well prepared to fizzle. I tried several things and failed. Presently, however, I did go into something for which I had no taste whatever, and made a success at it. It was so distasteful to me, however, that I got out of it—quit is the word. Now I'm taking a vacation; resting up a bit before I try something else. That,” he concluded, “is the shameful story of my guilty career. And now don't you think that you——”
Miss Burke shrugged her shapely shoulders. “Isn't it awfully tame not to have anything really shocking to tell about oneself?” She laughed. “I'm merely the daughter of a retired professor. I've been attending boarding school. My father is determined that I shall go to college. Like you, I'm spending part of my vacation here. That's all.”
They looked at each other almost dejectedly. After a moment she spoke again: “I had hoped for something more interesting from you. Twice I caught you reading the sporting page of that New York paper in your pocket. I thought that perhaps a man who was interested in such things——”
Babson flushed a little. “At college I was interested in sports. I played football and did other things. I always read the sporting page in my paper.”
“When I found you here, a little while ago, you were reading about a prize fight, weren't you?” Miss Burke inquired.
“Yes,” he admitted. “I always read that stuff, too.”
“So that must interest you. What do you think of prize fighting?”
“It's a brutal game.”
“The men who follow it—what about them?”
“Many of them are brutal. Such a profession can't help being demoralizing. It'll degrade any one who sticks to it.”
She turned her head to glance away across the blue water to where a distant steamer was trailing a smudge of smoke against the cloudless sky. Babson watched her uneasily.
Presently she looked back and put out her hand. “Will you let me look at that paper?” she asked.
Babson took it out of his pocket and passed it to her with slight reluctance.
“Let me see,” she said. “I think this is what you were reading: 'Sandy Maguire knocked out Hungry Goff in the fourth round of the bout at the Hercules Athletic Club last night. Afterward he issued a standing challenge to Mysterious Jack Doyle, who defeated him six weeks ago. No one seems to know what has become of Doyle. He just disappeared. Tex Clafton, Doyle's manager, declares that he hasn't the remotest idea what has become of his former star. According to Tex, Mysterious Jack swore that he was done with the game, and——”
“That must be highly pleasant and diverting reading for you, Miss Burke,” said Babson.
“I'm trying to discover what you found so interesting in it,” she returned, looking at him searchingly.
Babson felt his cheeks burning. “Perhaps I couldn't make that clear to you. All sorts and conditions of men read the fight stuff in the papers.”
“Even when they think it a demoralizing and degrading business and prize fighters brutal?”
“Well, perhaps—perhaps some do, even when they think that.”
Ruth's aunt had put up her fancy-work. She shivered a little. “I'm getting chilly in this breeze,” she said. “I think I'll go in. Don't you think you had better come, Ruth?”
The girl arose. “Yes, Aunt Myra,” she answered, “I think I will.”
Babson stood up. “I believe I'll go for a walk along the cliffs,” he said.
“Be careful,” advised Ruth, moving away with her aunt. “It's dangerous.”
Babson watched them enter the hotel. “Dished!”" he muttered. bitterly under his breath. “How she got wise I can't imagine; but now she's got my number and knows just what to think of me. My name is Dennis.”

### CHAPTER IV.
#### With Polite Regrets.

Babson did not go for a walk along the cliff path; instead, he turned in the opposite direction and walked over to Spring Cove Harbor, three miles away. He reached the Harbor in time to stroll down to the wharf and watch the afternoon boat from Portland come in.
As usual, a considerable number of villagers went down to the wharf for the same purpose. At this season of the year, the arrival of the afternoon boat was an event of some importance in Spring Cove.
Somewhat gloomily Babson watched the passengers coming down the gangplank. Most of them appeared to be vacationists; persons of moderate or limited means seeking a summer outing some place where the expenses would not too quickly drain their purses.
At the end of the gangplank stood Silly Jim, a well-known village character, grinning, bobbing, and welcoming each arrival, just as he had done daily for years. Practically everybody who had ever visited Spring Cove knew Jim, but nobody minded him. He was quite harmless.
A husky, broad-shouldered young man came striding down the plank like a person in.a hurry. He carried a small hand grip and more than six feet of bone and muscle. His clothes were new, ill fitting, and palpably ready-made. Weather-tanned and horny-handed, he was, nevertheless, good looking in a coarse way. But he had a brutal jaw and an eye that might be described as “bad.”
His jaw drooping, Silly Jim stared. “Whew!” he said. “What a whopper! Howdy, Mr. Big Feller!”
“Get outer the way; you poor simp!” snapped the huge stranger, giving Jim a shove that would have sent him sprawling had not a villager grabbed him and held him up.
Through the crowd the big man elbowed his way roughly. Looking on, Roger Babson felt his hands clench and his muscles grow taut. The desire to teach the fellow a lesson was something that he restrained with great difficulty at that moment. He did not wish, however, to attract special attention to himself. Notoriety was something he wished at present to avoid. Nevertheless, he could not resist the impulse to follow the man.
At the far side of the wharf were several public carriages, two motor cars, and the Pine Point jitney bus. Already the latter was pretty well filled up. There was only one seat left, and a hesitating old lady was talking with Abel Groves, who drove the jitney.
“Yes, ma'am,” Groves was saying, “I go right past the Hempford Cottage. Get in.”
The big fellow who had thrust Silly Jim aside shouldered past the old lady and climbed into the vacant seat. Groves protested. “This lady has engaged passage with me,” he said. “You'll have to get out. If you're goin' to the Point, you can hire a car or a carriage to take ye over.”
“What's the matter with her hiring one?” was the insolent retort. “I got here first. I'd like to see somebody put me out!”
It was done so quickly that perhaps he did not quite see it. Babson was on the running board before the man had fairly uttered the final word of that defiance, and Babson's sinewy fingers had him by the collar. A second later, the fellow struck the planking of the wharf with a crash. His hand bag flew fifteen feet beyond him.
“Get in, madam,” said Babson to the startled old lady. “I'll see that this person doesn't bother you.”
Having given this promise, he turned his attention again to the astonished and infuriated stranger, who was hastily getting up.
“You had better go about your business,” said Babson mildly, “or you may get hurt.”
On his feet, the huge man came at Babson, his face dark with rage, fists clenched, muscular arms swinging with a piston motion. It certainly was his intention to smash Babson on the spot. Several persons in the crowd of witnesses cried out in alarm or warning.
Babson met the fellow's rush, parrying a fearful blow. Babson's fist and the point of the big man's jaw came together. The back of the man's head seemed to strike the planking before any other part of his body. He lay quite still.
Then Babson turned again and helped the trembling old lady into the carriage himself, speaking to her calmly and reassuringly. Having lifted his hat to her, he took out his handkerchief and wrapped it round his barked knuckles.
“My stars!” exclaimed Abel Groves. “You hit that big feller an awful biff! You—knocked—him—stiff!”
“I had to,” stated Babson, his voice still mild and steady. “I regret that it was necessary, but I don't think he's seriously hurt. It was just a simple knock-out, I reckon.”
“Simple! That what you call it?” gurgled Groves. “Maybe! But none of that simple stuff for mine! Zowie!”
The big man showed signs of recovering. In a few seconds he managed to struggle up to one elbow, in which position he stared at Babson dully, apparently uncomprehending.
“I'm sorry you forced me to hit you,” Babson told him. “In a way, perhaps, it wasn't just fair of me to do it. Your style of fighting is very crude. You should learn how to handle yourself before you attempt it again. Almost everybody who knows the rudiments of scientific sparring could thump you at will.”
What the fellow said in return to that caused the agitated old lady in the jitney to clap her hands over her ears and beseech Abel Groves to drive away as quickly as possible.
“It's evident,” said Babson to the man, “that you're not damaged enough to be disturbed about. Your manners and your language both need correcting. Think that over. It may be good for you.” With which piece of advice he turned and walked away.
“Who is that buck?” asked the man who had been knocked down, sitting up and preparing to rise to his feet. “What's his name? I want to remember him.”
“I don't know,” answered one of the group of seemingly highly pleased villagers; “but if he was a little older I'd say he was Jim Corbett. Take it from me, mister, you'd better forget him.”

### CHAPTER V.
#### Learning Her Secret.

Instead of returning to the Pine Point Hotel for dinner that night, Babson remained in Spring Cove and dined at a little restaurant that was noted for its sea food. He sat on an outside rear balcony overlooking the water, from which position he could look down upon small vessels lying at the crowded wharves. It was pleasant, but lonely, and Babson pitied himself for a luckless dog. In spite of tempting things to eat, his appetite was poor, and a sort of desperate melancholia took possession of him.
“Daughter of a retired professor,” he murmured to himself. “You haven't a show in the world, you poor skate!”
In the gathering twilight he started to walk back to Pine Point. The moon was peeping up in the east and throwing a red-gold shimmer across the sea when he drew near the hotel. Still some distance away, he chose a short cut, taking a path that led through a little pine grove and came out at the disused tennis courts just west of the hotel. Beneath his feet the soft, brown pine needles made a soundless carpet.
With four more steps he would have issued upon the courts when he halted abruptly. The voice of Ruth Burke had stopped him in his tracks. He could not see her, but he could hear her pleading in a low tone, and he heard her words distinctly.
“Please,” she was saying, “please go away, Link! What made you follow me here? I didn't think you'd do that. I tried to make you understand——”
“Oh, yes!” a man's voice cut in. “You tried to make me understand when you saw that I was serious. It was too late then. You'd started something you couldn't stop so easy. Even your old man couldn't scare me off. I ain't afraid of him, but he's afraid of me, for he knows that I know he's a murderer. I know he killed a man, and he's been hidin' up there at Groton in the woods for years. He couldn't drive me off, so he sent you away. But I saw a letter from you, and I saw the postmark on the envelope. So I'm here!”
Babson's jaws were hard set. For a moment longer, but without the least desire to eavesdrop, he hesitated. If the girl was in the slightest danger, he would step in to protect her; but if she was not in danger, he was disposed to turn about and hurry silently away. For he had unintentionally listened to something that he much preferred she did not know he had heard. A murderer—her father!
She was speaking again: “You're silly, Link! I never gave you any reason to think me more than a friend. You did me a great favor once, and naturally I was grateful. I didn't think you would misunderstand.”
Not a word in denial of the accusation against her father! Then, of course, it was true!
“Oh, no!” the unseen man sneered in response. “You didn't do a thing but talk and laugh with me till everybody around Groton was talkin', too!”
“I had to talk to somebody!” she exclaimed. “And goodness knows there are few enough people around there to talk to. I didn't think——”
“No, you didn't think that other folks would talk and laugh, too, did you? You didn't think they'd take to callin' you my girl. Well, that's what they did. They didn't dare say much to my face, but I knew what they were sayin' behind my back. I didn't care much, for I was just wild about you. You made me so. Then, when I told you, you tried to throw me down. You quit seein' me any more or giving me a chance. Then I knew folks were talkin' more than ever behind my back, and laughing at me. And when I went to your old man, he ordered me off and threatened to shoot me. But I've got him now—got him cold! And I'm goin' to have you, too! 'Tain't no use for you to try to run away from me. I'll foller you if I have to foller you round the world. I'm goin' to have you, Ruth, if I have to take you by main force.”
“Stop, Link! Don't touch me! They'll hear me in the hotel if I call.”
“You won't!” he declared, and the way he laughed made Babson's blood leap hotly. “You were afraid to have the folks round the hotel see me talkin' with you, and so you met me out here. You don't want them to know who you are and what your old man is. Oh, no, you won't holler, Ruth!”
“She doesn't have to,” said Babson, stepping out before the couple in the shadow at the edge of the grove. “If you don't cut this stuff out and let Miss Burke alone, something is going to happen to you far more unpleasant than what happened at Spring Cove this afternoon.'
As he spoke he advanced into the moonlight in order that the fellow might recognize him unmistakably. For, although he was literally tingling to give the ruffian a second lesson, he did not wish to set the hotel buzzing with the scandal that a pitched battle in such circumstances would surely stir up. So far as possible, he was anxious to protect the girl from that.
The man uttered a half-smothered exclamation of fury, but not a sound came from Miss Burke. Nevertheless, Babson saw her shrink in a startled way, and he felt that she was struck dumb with consternation.
“I beg your pardon for butting in, Miss Burke,” he said. “I happened to be coming through the path, and heard this individual threatening you. I always find pleasure in calling a bluff.”
“You better mind your own business!” the man snarled at him.
“There isn't much excitement doing that,” returned Babson, “and one craves excitement after a week or two around here. If Miss Burke will be good enough to leave us alone, perhaps we might stir some up.”
She flitted quickly to his side and put a trembling hand on his arm. “Don't!” she whispered, in evident fear. “You don't know this man! He's a brute, a ruffian, a fighter! He——”
Babson interrupted her with a light laugh, keeping his eyes on the man all the while. “Brute and ruffian he may be, but when it comes to fighting he's a joke. We have met before.”
“I—I don't understand.” The girl glanced at the huge figure in the shadow. “I know his reputation. I thought he'd attack you instantly.”
“I doubt if he ever tries that again, unless my back is turned. Shall I escort you to the hotel, Miss Burke?”
“No, no! But I'm afraid to leave you here—with him.”
“You needn't be. It happens that I do know him. I have his measure. You can see that he's not making haste to jump at me. He won't try it at all.”
But Miss Burke could not feel sure about that. “If you will walk to the corner of the hotel with me, you can leave me there,” she said.
With his head turned so that he could continue to keep an eye on the man, Babson walked away with her. The fellow at the edge of the woods watched them, without stirring.
At the corner of the hotel, Ruth stopped a moment and said: “Look out for Link Snell! I don't know why he did nothing, but I tell you he is a bad man. Thank you, Mr. Babson. Good night.”
When she was gone, Babson looked back toward the grove again. He could no longer perceive the black figure of Snell in the edge of the shadow.
“A bad man,” he said to himself, “is quite often a coward. This one is no exception.” When he entered the hotel, he went at once to his room.
He had something to think about. With him Ruth Burke's secret was safe, but not with Link Snell. It seemed indisputable that the fellow's knowledge of her father's crime gave him power over her that he would not hesitate to use to force her to yield to his demand. To protect her father, to save him from the consequences of his crime, she might be compelled to give herself into the possession of the wretch. And Babson could think of no way to save her, no way to silence Snell. Never in his life had he been so maddened by his helplessness.
He did not sleep well, and he rose early. He was eager to see Ruth again, to talk with her, to offer his sympathy as delicately as possible and assure her that he was ready to do anything in his power for her. What he could do he did not know, but he felt that something must be done. He wanted to find out more about Snell. Perhaps somewhere in the fellow's past there was something hidden that, could the truth be learned, might be held over him to frighten him into silence.
Neither Ruth nor her aunt appeared at breakfast. Hesitating about making inquiries, Babson waited until almost eleven o'clock. Then he went to the clerk.
“Miss Burke and her aunt left the hotel last night,” he was told.
“Left!” echoed Babson inanely. “How? Where did they go?”
“They hired an automobile to take them to Oldcastle so that they could catch the early train this morning.”
“The early train—for where?” asked Babson feebly.
“Portland. They registered from New York. They left no instructions about forwarding mail, but I presume that's where they were going.”
Babson turned away. He could not even express thanks for the information. “A knock-out for me!” he muttered. “What I handed Link Snell was a love tap compared to this.”

### CHAPTER VI.
#### The Mystery Man.

Three days later the semiweekly West Branch mail stage—which was no more than a battered buckboard—dropped a single passenger at Groton. That passenger was Roger Babson, and he was fully dressed for roughing it in the Maine woods. His only baggage was a leather hand kit bound with heavy straps.
The stage driver tossed a flat mail pouch to Sim Bundy, postmaster, store-keeper, and hotel proprietor, and carelessly threw off three or four boxes and bundles for Bundy's son, a sleepy-looking boy of seventeen, to take charge of.
“That's all,” he said. “The big box is for old man Burke.”
“Ain't ye goin' to stop for feed?” asked Bundy.
“Nope. Road's gettin' good, and I'm more'n an hour ahead of time. C'n make Bickford's in time to get the eats there. So long, Sim.” He gathered up the reins and drove off.
Babson looked Bundy's place over. It was a sizable frame building, sheathed and weather-stripped. The paintbrush had never touched it. From one of the windows peered an unkempt, solemn woman and soiled-faced child with a half-eaten cracker in its fist. On a broken chair beside the front steps sat a thin young man in sport clothes, staring with deep interest at Babson.
The new arrival looked round the clearing. There were four more buildings to be seen, but they were mere shacks. The largest, painted a sickly green, was not more than a third the size of Bundy's place.
“Is this the hotel?” asked Babson.
“Sure,” answered Bundy. “Wasn't lookin' for no guests, but I guess we can put ye up. Got another stoppin' here.” He wriggled a blackened thumb toward the young man in sport clothes.
The young man rose, stepped forward, and spoke to Babson. “I'm hanged,” he said, “if I don't believe you're Mysterious Jack Doyle!”
Babson frowned. “Guilty,” he acknowledged; “but I'd deny it if I thought you would believe me.”
The young man grabbed his hand. “My name's Spencer. I saw you fight Sandy Maguire and spoil his hopes of becoming a champ. I'm up here for my health. Doing a little fishing over on Caribou Pond. Foolish doctor said my right lung was on the blink, and sent me up here. But, say, what happened to you? Been reading in the papers how you just evaporated, melted away, disappeared after that scrap. And you were in line to get at Battling Gibson and become champ yourself. I'll bet my pile on you any day you meet Gibson. He can stand punishment, and he's got a punch, but you can stand punishment and you've got everything! Suppose that holler your manager's been making about not knowing what has become of you is all guff. You're just knocking around and taking a rest before you get Gibson, eh? That's it—what?”
“Nothing like it,” returned Babson quietly. “I'm done. I've quit the game.”
“Quit!” Spencer exclaimed, in horror. “You can't quit! You don't look like a quitter.”
“I'd never have been a beginner if hard luck hadn't driven me to it. Boxing is the only thing I learned thoroughly while I was at college, but I didn't learn it with the remotest idea of ever becoming a prize fighter, a pug. Hardly! However, lack of other qualifications made me fail at everything else I attempted. I fought the first time for ten dollars because I simply had to have the ten. It proved to be the easiest ten I'd ever made. Tex Clafton saw me win that ten, and he came to me with a proposition. I signed up with him. He's managed me for two years, and we've both made money. But he knew I never intended to stick at the game.
“I didn't deceive Clafton,” he went on, “but I did deceive the public, for my name's Babson, not Doyle. But even under a fictitious name I have no desire to become a champion. To avoid that I had either to meet Maguire again and be whipped by him or quit. I quit. I've avoided all the friends I had before I took up fighting; I didn't permit myself to make any while I was at that. So they called me Mysterious Jack. My former friends weren't proud enough of me to brag about their friendship, those who happened to find out what I'd done. Therefore I have something to be thankful for.”
“But as a champ you might pull down more coin in one fight than you made in the two years you were at it.”
“I should worry!” said Babson. “I'm going in. I want to see my room and wash up.”

### CHAPTER VII.
#### Of Interest to the Guest.

Having sorted the mail, Bundy was sitting on the front steps, smoking a black corncob and talking with Spencer, when Babson came down from his room. The proprietor of the place looked his new guest over with great interest, which seemed to indicate that Spencer had been telling him something.
“I'll bring out another chair for ye, mister,” he said, rising hastily. “It'll be near an hour before dinner is ready. That is, unless you're in a hurry. If you be——”
“Not at all,” Babson assured him. “And I prefer to sit on the steps. Groton appears to be a rather peaceful place; not much going on.”
“Not at this season of the year,” agreed Bundy, lowering himself back to the top step beside the new arrival. “You see, it's sort of between hay and grass now. In the spring and fall it's dif'rent. In the spring the fishin' sports come in and the choppers go out; in the fall we get the huntin' sports and the choppers goin' in. There's quite a lot stirrin' round here them times, though I don't imagine it's quite as lively as New York, where you come from.” He finished with a slow grin, and gave a pull at his gurgling pipe.
“It's a good place to rest,” said Spencer. “Anyhow, it was before that gang over in the green house got a supply of fire water. They kept me awake, whooping it up, all last night, but they're quiet enough to-day. Sleeping it off, I suppose.”
“That's Jo Lubec's place,” explained Bundy. “Jo's been arrested twice for sellin' booze, and the officers come after him ag'in this spring, but he got out a couple of jumps ahead of them. Been back 'most three weeks now, and layin' low. Jos a bad aig. Carries a knife and is quick to use it in a fight. He's sore on me now; thinks I informed on him. I don't sell no liquor here, and I'm a peaceful man; but I know enough not to make no talk about Lubec. I hope him and his crowd don't take a notion to clean out my place.” There was more than mild anxiety in“the way he uttered those final words.
“Where they all came from so suddenly and where they're stowed away in that little shack is what gets me,” said Spencer. “There must be a dozen of them.”
“That crew can smell booze ten miles away,” averred Bundy. “Link Snell fetched in a supply when he come back yisterday, and they gathered like flies round a molasses barrel.”
“Link Snell?” queried Babson. “Who is he?”
“He's a good person to keep away from when he goes on a toot,” answered Bundy. “He owns some sportin' camps over on Beaver Pond, but he hangs round here a good deal 'tween seasons, specially sence he got smit on old man Burke's girl. There's some girl! A peach! She come back, too, day before yisterday. Buckboarded it all the way from Spruce Junction, along with her aunt.”
If either the speaker or Spencer had been looking at Babson then, they would have seen a gleam of triumph flash into his eyes.
“She's li'ble to ride down here for mail this afternoon,” Bundy went on. “When she's home she almost alwus comes down on mail days. There ain't no city girls got nothin' on her. But then she's been away to school a good deal and mixed a lot with classy folks. Her old man's bound she shall be a real lady, I guess.”
“You interest me,” said Babson lightly.
“She'll interest ye when you see her. That's what ails Link; he got too interested. He'd oughter known he didn't have a chance with the likes of her. I cal'late it was him botherin' her so much that drove her away after she come home from school this spring. He must 'a' knowed she was back ag'in, for he showed up here just a day behind her. If he wakes up from his spree of last night, he'll be watchin' for her to come for the mail later on.”
“I got a chance to give her the once over,” remarked Spencer. “Bundy's got her right; she's a peach.”
“My interest grows by leaps and bounds,” Babson admitted. “What about her father? What does he do up here in this country?”
“He's a queer old rooster,” said Bundy. “Sort of a hermit, in a way. Nobody knows much about him, though a man did come here last year that seemed to know him. Burke had a conflab with the man, and after that the man wouldn't say much of anything about him. Burke come in five year ago, nobody knows where from. He bought the old horse farm of the Harmon & Whiting Lumber Company, over on Mitchell Mountain. There was a good set of buildin's, but the company warn't usin' the farm no more, and Burke must 'a' got it dirt cheap.”
“How far is it to Burke's farm?”
“About three mile.”
“It doesn't appear to me that farming in such a place can offer many inducements to an outsider. I don't see how it can be made very profitable.”
“Now, that's one of the odd things;. I don't cal'late Burke cares whether it's profitable or not. He don't try to ship nothing out, and what he sells he sells to them that's willin' to come after it. He had a heap of furniture and things hauled in, includin' a piano, and he's fixed the buildings up fine and painted them. He just seems to want to live there comfortable by himself. It must be lonesome when the girl's away, for her mother's dead. Burke's sister is his housekeeper. Once, when Link Snell was drinkin', he pretended that he knew somethin' about Burke, but I guess it was John Barleycorn talkin'. If Link does know anything of that sort, he's the only one round here.”
That was all Babson could learn of particular interest to him, although he continued to talk with Bundy and Spencer until Bundy's lazy-looking son loafed out to the door and informed them that dinner was ready. They went in through the general store and post office to the dining room at the rear, where they sat down at an oilcloth-covered table and ate something the proprietor called veal, although it tasted very much like venison to Babson. Having done the cooking, Mrs. Bundy waited on the table.
Babson's appetite was excellent, and he was not at all finical, therefore he enjoyed it thoroughly. Many a time he had eaten worse food in worse places.
Before they had finished, some one was heard to come into the store. Bundy left the table and went out, closing the door behind him. The muffled sound of men's voices came through the partition.
A few minutes later, Babson and Spencer followed Bundy. In the open front doorway a slender, wiry, dark-faced man stood leaning a shoulder against the jamb. Behind his counter, Bundy was replacing a half-emptied box of cigars in the small, fly-specked show case. In front of the show case a big man was just applying a lighted match to the cigar he had bought. Babson walked into this man's range of vision, and the man dropped the match.
“Hello, Snell!” said Babson.
“Tophet's bells!” exclaimed Link Snell. “How'd you come here?”

### CHAPTER VIII.
#### Like Hungry Wolves.

Babson smiled. “Having inadvertently overheard you mention a place by the name of Groton,” he returned, “I decided to come up here and look it over.”
Snell bit through the cigar in his teeth. His eyes were bloodshot. A wolfish sneer curled one corner of his mouth upward.
“You did, hey?” he barked. “Well, you came at a good time. I'm glad to see ye! And I got some friends that'll welcome ye. Lubec, call the boys!”
The dark man in the doorway thrust his fingers into his mouth and whistled shrilly.
“The lid's off the pot!” spluttered Bundy, in alarm. “Now there'll be a mess!”
Spencer grabbed Babson's elbow. “That's a signal for the gang!” he exclaimed nervously. “What are you going to do? You can't——”
“He can't do anything!” shouted Link Snell. “I've got him where I want him. I know why he came here. He came up here after Ruth Burke. What he'll get is something he didn't come after.”
Then, perhaps with a desire to harrow Babson's feelings, he betrayed his own evil design. “But I'll have her! She'll find out she can't make a fool of me! I got the boys to back me up, and I'll have her if I have to go to old Burke's place and take her! After I've beat the head off this meddlin' old——”
Through the open door Babson caught a glimpse of men coming toward Bundy's place at a run. It was time for action. Snell and Lubec must be thrown out instantly, and the door closed. Then, if Bundy had the courage to furnish him with a gun, he would try to stand the gang off. He made a leap for Snell.
But Spencer, clutching his arm again, spoiled it. It was just enough to prevent Babson from reaching Link Snell without swerving him in his pantherish spring. It yanked him a bit to one side as he jumped. Snell was able to dodge. Shouting for the men outside to hurry, Jo Lubec lunged forward to help Snell. The others came pouring in.
Babson was caught. They surrounded him like a pack of wolves. He met the attack with astonishing coolness, his fists cracking against their heads and knocking them right and left. Clutching hands tore his coat from his back. Again and again those hands grasped him, but could not seem to hold him. His woolen shirt and his light undershirt were torn to shreds. In less than a minute his body was practically naked to the waist.
Bundy crouched behind his counter, fully believing it would mean his ruin if he attempted to interfere in behalf of his guest. Spencer did try to help Babson, but a heavy boot, planted in his stomach, sent him thudding into a corner.
In the midst of those ruffians, Babson fought on alone. His bleeding fists smashed the snarling faces that could be reached. Beneath the pinky-white skin his splendid muscles rippled and played. He was battered by blows he did not seem to feel at all. His teeth were set, his nostrils dilated, his eyes filled with a battle light.
Gripping a knife, a hand struck at him. He leaped back a step, and the knife barely scored his ribs. In a flash he had Jo Lubec by the wrist. There was a snapping twist, a scream from Lubec. The knife quivered with its point in the floor. Lubec clung, ghastly white and roaring with pain, to a broken arm.
Round and round the room the battle raged. The barrel stove was knocked over, and lengths of piping, discharging soot, came clattering down from wire supports upon the heads of the men. Sent staggering back by a blow, a ruffian crashed against the counter and upset the shattered show case and its contents upon the cowering Bundy.
Time after time Babson tried to get at Link Snell, who was urging the brutes on; but Snell managed to keep out of reach. Men who were down were trampled on. Hands grabbed at Babson's feet, but he kicked himself free and continued to keep his pins beneath him.
Then he heard a cry—a woman's cry. He caught a glimpse of Ruth Burke on the top step outside the open door. He saw a rawboned man, bewhiskered, shaggy-haired, and grizzled, push past her and jump into the room. The man shouted: “Keep at 'em, son! Tom Burke is with ye!”
“It's time somebody was!” panted Babson.
He was beginning to feel a bit groggy, for it had been more than human flesh and blood could stand up under indefinitely. In a few minutes more they would have got him. But now, seeing the bewhiskered Burke sail into the ruffians like a cyclone, delivering smashing, sledge-hammer blows, he revived.
Snell, surprised, had turned his head to look at the newcomer. Babson saw his chance. He hammered a smaller man aside and reached Snell.
“One more in the same old place!” he cried, and struck Snell on the jaw with every particle of power he could put into the blow. Snell went down.
At the same instant, something like a load of dynamite seemed to explode in the top of Babson's head. His legs buckled beneath him, and he sank in a senseless heap upon the floor.

### CHAPTER IX.
#### “Whither Thou Goest.”

Even before his eyes fluttered open again, Babson felt a cool, moist hand on his forehead and heard Ruth's voice calling his name. He lifted his lids, looked up into her face, and forced a weak smile. Immediately she became mildly hysterical.
“I'm all right,” Babson told her reassuringly.
He was still lying on the floor. Around him was the débris of Bundy's wrecked store, but the ruffians were gone. Sitting on the floor, Ruth was holding his head in her lap while she bathed his face and head in water from a tin washbasin beside her.
Bundy, Spencer, and the bewhiskered, rawboned man who had come to Babson's aid were looking on. The last mentioned spoke:
“You bet you're all right, son! If one of them white-livered curs hadn't sneaked up behind you and belted ye over the nut with a broken chair, you'd 'a' been on your pins at the finish.”
“The finish!” said Babson. “What was the finish?”
“It didn't last long after you busted Link Snell's jaw. You broke it with that little tap. I reckon they got him laid out in Jo Lubec's joint. With him out of the way, I was able to finish the job you'd begun so well. This here young man tells me you're a regular fighter, and known by the name of Jack Doyle.”
“That's right,” admitted Babson, looking at Ruth. “Now you know what to think of me.”
“Yes,” she whispered, a wonderful light in her blue eyes. “I know what to think of you now.”
He sat up, and the others helped him to his feet. “I wish somebody would give me something to cover me,” he said.
Bundy flung a blanket over his shoulders.
“What was that about breaking Snell's jaw?” he asked. “Did I do that?”
“You did, son,” affirmed the man who had helped him. “Don't feel bad about it. I killed a man once with a blow. I'm Big Tom Burke. Perhaps you've heard of me.”
Babson looked at him in astonishment. “Big Tom Burke, the old-timer, the champion?” he cried.
“That's me. I never stepped into the ring again after I finished Tugboat Kelley. I did teach boxing for a while, but I gave that up and got as far away from the business as I could.”
“You see,” whispered Ruth pleadingly, “I told you the truth when I said my father was a retired professor. They called him professor when he taught boxing.”
Babson grasped Big Tom Burke's hand. “I'm proud to know you,” he declared. “It's a sure thing that you can still use your fists efficiently. As soon as I can wash up, pull myself together, and get some clothes, I'd like to have a talk with you.”
“Ruth and I rode down for the mail,” said Burke. “We're going right back. You better come with us, and make us a visit at my farm. That gang that tried to do ye is thrashed to a frazzle now and won't lift a hand to bother us. But if ye stay here alone mebbe you'll have more trouble.”
Babson looked at Ruth. She was silent. “Let me get cleaned up and find some clothes,” he said, starting away. “Then I'll tell you what I'll do!”
The girl ran after him and grasped his arm with both her hands. “I know you think I deceived you,” she said, in a low tone. “I didn't tell you about my father. It has preyed on his mind—killing that man, though it was an accident. For that reason, and for my sake as well, he has tried in recent years to get away where nobody would recognize him,.where nobody would ever know that he had been a prize fighter. And I thought you—you wouldn't—think much of me—if you knew I was the daughter of a prize fighter.”
“And I thought you knew I had been one, and rather despised me for it,” he returned. “We were both deceiving ourselves, it seems.”
“And you'll accept father's invitation? You'll come to the farm for a visit? I want you to.”
“Whither thou goest,” said Babson, “depend upon it, I'll follow.”
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1945, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 78 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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