The Spectator., 1916-04-21
Copyright, 1914, by Harold MacGrath)

ther's life hangs upon the secrecy; all Jones, the butler It all depends upon how the letter gets to her. Bred in the country, she probably sleeps with her window open. A pebble at- tached to a note, tossed into the win dow. I'll trust this to no one; I'll do it myself With the girl in our control the rest will be easy. If she really does not know where the money is Hargreave will tell us. Great head, little woman, great head. She does not know her fathers handwriting"
 She has never seen scrap of it. All that Miss Barlow ever received was money. The original note left on lost. Trust me to make all these in- quiries."
 Tomorrow night, then, immedi ately after dinner, a taxicab will await her just around the corner Grange is the best man 1 can think of. He's an artist when it comes to playing the old-man parts"
 Not too old, remember liar greave isn't over forty-tive."
 Another good point. I'm going to stretch out here on the divan and snooze for a while. Had a devil of a time last night"
 When shall I wake your"
 "At six. We'll have an early dinner sent in. l want to keep out of every body's way. By-by!"
 In less than three minutes he was sound asleep. The woman gazed down at him in wonder and envy If only she could drop to sleep like that Very softly she pressed her lips to his hair
 At eleven o'clock the following night the hall light in the Hargreave house was turned of and the whole interior became dark A shadow crept through the lilac bushes with out any more sound that cat would open. as the arch-conspirator had ex- pected it would be. With a small string and stone as a sling he sent the letter whirling skillfully through the air. It sailed into the girls room. The man below heard no sound of the stone hitting anything and concluded that 1t had struck the bed
 He waited patiently Presently wavering light could be distinguished over the sill of the window The girl was awake and had lit the candle. This knowledge was sufficient for his need The tragic letter would do the rest, that Is, if the girl came from the same pattern as her father and mother-strong willed and adventu- rous.
 He tiptoed back to the lilacs, when a noise sent him close to the ground. Half dozen feet away he saw shadow creeping along toward the front door. Presently the shadow stood up as if listening. He stopped again and ran lightly to the steps. up these to the door. which he hugged
 Who was this? wondered Braine Patiently he waited arranging his pos ture so that he could keep a lookout at the door. By and by the door opened cautiously. A man holding a candle appeared. Braine vaguely recognized Olga's description of the butler The man on the veranda sud denly blew out the light
 Braine could hear the low murmur of voices. but nothing more The con versation lasted scarcely a minute. The door closed and the man ran down the steps, across the lawn, with Braine close at his heels.
 Just moment, Mir Hargreave." he called ironically; just a moment"
 The man he addressed as Hargreave turned with lightning rapidity and struck. The blow caught Braine above tile ear, knocking him flat. When he regained his feet the rumble story.
 By the dim light of her bedroom candle Florence read the note which had found entrance so strangely and mysteriously into her room. Her fa- ther! He lived, he needed her! Alive but in dread peril, and only she could save him. She longed to fly to him at once, then and there, How could she wait till tomorrow night at eight? Immediately she began to plan how to circumvent the watchful Jones and the careful Susan. Her father! She slept no more that night.
 My Darling Daughter: must see you. Come at eight o'clock tomorrow night to 7S Grove street. third floor. Confide in no one, or you seal my death warrant
 Your unhappy FATHER"
 What child would refuse to obey a summons like this?
 light tap on the door started her.
 "ls anything the matter?" asked the mild voice of Jones.
 No. l got up to get a drink of water"
 She heard his footsteps die away down the corridor. She thrust the letter into the pocket of her dress, which lay neatly folded on the chair at the foot of the bed, then climbed