“And if she hasn’t done any of these things,” retorted Banneker, drawing upon some of Camilla Van Arsdale’s wisdom, brought to bear on the case, “she’s libel, isn’t she?”

“Hardly libel.  But she isn’t safe news until she’s identified.  You see, I’m playing an open game with you.  I’m here to identify her, with half a dozen newspaper photos.  Want to see ’em?”

“No, thank you.”

“Not interested?  Are you going to take me over to Miss Van Arsdale’s?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why should I?  It’s no part of my business as an employee of the road.”

“As to that, I’ve got a letter from the Division Superintendent asking you to further my inquiry in any possible way.  Here it is.”

Banneker took and read the letter.  While not explicit, it was sufficiently direct.

“That’s official, isn’t it?” said Gardner mildly.

“Yes.”

“Well?”

“And this is official,” added Banneker calmly.  “The company can go to hell.  Tell that to the D.S. with my compliments, will you?”

“Certainly not.  I don’t want to get you into trouble.  I like you.  But I’ve got to land this story.  If you won’t take me to the place, I’ll find some one in the village that will.  You can’t prevent my going there, you know.”

“Can’t I?” Banneker’s voice had grown low and cold.  A curious light shone in his eyes.  There was an ugly flicker of smile on his set mouth.

The reporter rose from the chair into which he had wetly slumped.  He walked over to face his opponent who was standing at his desk.  Banneker, lithe, powerful, tense, was half again as large as the other; obviously more muscular, better-conditioned, more formidable in every way.  But there is about a man, singly and selflessly intent upon his job in hand, an inner potency impossible to obstruct.  Banneker recognized it; inwardly admitted, too, the unsoundness of the swift, protective rage rising within, himself.

“I don’t propose to make trouble for you or to have trouble with you,” said the reporter evenly.  “But I’m going to Miss Van Arsdale’s unless I’m shot on the way there.”

“That’s all right,” returned the agent, mastering himself.  “I beg your pardon for threatening you.  But you’ll have to find your own way.  Will you put up here for the night, again?”

“Thanks.  Glad to, if it won’t trouble you.  See you later.”

“Perhaps not.  I’m turning in early.  I’ll leave the shack unlocked for you.”

Gardner opened the outer door and was blown back into the station by an explosive gust of soaking wind.

“On second thought,” said he, “I don’t think I’ll try to go out there this evening.  The young lady can’t very well get away to-night, unless she has wings, and it’s pretty damp for flying.  Can I get dinner over at the village?”

“Such as it is.  I’ll go over with you.”