“Forget it, Violet; only don’t let any one or anything lead you to interest yourself in another affair of the kind.  If you do, I shall have to consult a certain friend of yours as to the best way of stopping this folly.  I mention no names.  Oh! you need not look so frightened.  Only behave; that’s all.”

“He’s right,” she acknowledged to herself, as he sauntered away; “altogether right.”

Yet because she wanted the extra money—­

The scene invited alarm,—­that is, for so young a girl as Violet, surveying it from an automobile some time after the stroke of midnight.  An unknown house at the end of a heavily shaded walk, in the open doorway of which could be seen the silhouette of a woman’s form leaning eagerly forward with arms outstretched in an appeal for help!  It vanished while she looked, but the effect remained, holding her to her seat for one startled moment.  This seemed strange, for she had anticipated adventure.  One is not summoned from a private ball to ride a dozen miles into the country on an errand of investigation, without some expectation of encountering the mysterious and the tragic.  But Violet Strange, for all her many experiences, was of a most susceptible nature, and for the instant in which that door stood open, with only the memory of that expectant figure to disturb the faintly lit vista of the hall beyond, she felt that grip upon the throat which comes from an indefinable fear which no words can explain and no plummet sound.

But this soon passed.  With the setting of her foot to ground, conditions changed and her emotions took on a more normal character.  The figure of a man now stood in the place held by the vanished woman; and it was not only that of one she knew but that of one whom she trusted—­a friend whose very presence gave her courage.  With this recognition came a better understanding of the situation, and it was with a beaming eye and unclouded features that she tripped up the walk to meet the expectant figure and outstretched hand of Roger Upjohn.

“You here!” she exclaimed, amid smiles and blushes, as he drew her into the hall.

He at once launched forth into explanations mingled with apologies for the presumption he had shown in putting her to this inconvenience.  There was trouble in the house—­great trouble.  Something had occurred for which an explanation must be found before morning, or the happiness and honour of more than one person now under this unhappy roof would be wrecked.  He knew it was late—­that she had been obliged to take a long and dreary ride alone, but her success with the problem which had once come near wrecking his own life had emboldened him to telephone to the office and—­“But you are in ball-dress,” he cried in amazement.  “Did you think—­”

“I came from a ball.  Word reached me between the dances.  I did not go home.  I had been bidden to hurry.”

He looked his appreciation, but when he spoke it was to say: