The spectator., 1922-05-09

disappearance was in some way con nected with you; he said that he did not think that was so; but do you want to tell me why you thought it?'
 Yes; I will tell you" She colored quickly. "One of the last things Mir. Corvet did-in fact, the last thing we know of his doing before he sent for you-was to come to me and warn me against one of my friends"
 "Warn you, Miss Sherrill? How? mean, warn you against what?'
 Against thinking too much of him." She turned away
 II think I'll come to see your father in the morning. Alan said, when Con- stance looked back to him.
 But you'll come over here for breakfast in the morning?"
 You want me?'
 Certainly"
 "Td like to come very much"
 Then I'll expect you" She followed him to the door when he had put on his things. and he made no objection when she asked that the man be all lowed to carry his bag around to the other house.
 When he had dismissed Simons and re-entered the house on Astor street, he found no evidences of any disturb ance while he had been gone. On the second floor, to the east of the room which had been his fathers, was a bedroom which evidently had been kept as guest chamber; Alan carried his suitcase there and made ready for bed
 The sight of Constance Sherrill standing and watching after him in concern as he started back to this house, came to him again and again and. also. her flush when she had spoken of the friend against whom Benjamin Corvet had warned her. Who was he? It had been impossible at that moment for Alan to ask her more besides, If he had asked and she had told him, he would have learned only a name which he could not place yet in any connection with her or with Benjamin Corvet Whoever he was. It WHS pldln liAt SoistahNe ShViiii thought of him." lucky man, Alan said to himself. Yet Corvet had warned her not to think of him. .
 Alan turned back his bed. It had been for him a tremendous day. Bare ly twelve hours before he had come to that house, Alan Conrad from Blue | Rapids, Kan, now phrases from what Lawrence Sherrill had told him of his father were running | through his mind as he opened the | door of the room to be able to hear | any noise in Benjamin Corvet's house, of which he was sole protector. The emotion reused by his first sight of the lake went through him again as he | opened the window to the east.
 Now-he was in bed-he seemed to be standing, n specter before man blaspheming Benjamin Corvet and the souls of men dead. And the hsle above the eye! The bullet got you! So it's you that got Ben
 I'll get you You can't save the Miwaka!"
 The Miwakal The stir of that name was stronger now even than before II had been running through his con- sciousness almost constantly since he had heard it. He jumped up and turned on the light and found a pencil He did not know how to spell the name and 1t was not necessary tC write 1t down; the name had taken or that definiteness and ineffaceableness of thing which, once heard, car never again be forgotten. But, in panic that he might forget, he wrote 1t, guessing at the spelling-"Miwaka
 It was name, of course; but the name of what? It repeated and re peated itself to him, after he got back into bed, until it's very iteration made him drowsy.
 Outside, the gale whlstled ant shrieked. The wind, passing it's last resistance after its sweep across thu prairies before 1t leaped upon the lake battered and clamored in its assault about the house. But as Alan becam, sleepier. he heard it no longer as | rattled the windows and howled under the caves and over the roof. but as ou on the lake, above the roaring and ice crunching waves, 1t whipped and cir cled with it's chill the ice-shroudet sides of struggling ships. So, with tn, roar of surf and gale in his ears. h,