“You see,” she went on, with a certain hesitancy, “you confided your story to me so frankly I felt under a certain obligation.”  She made a little dramatic pause.  “I’ve discovered who Jefferson Locke is!”

“No!  Who is he?” Kirk was instantly all attention, for the announcement came as something of a shock.  He had almost forgotten Locke.

“His real name is Frank Wellar, and he is an absconder.  He was a broker’s clerk in St. Louis, and he made off with something like eighty thousand dollars in cash.”

“Good heavens!” said Anthony.  “How did you find out?”

“A bundle of New York papers—­they came to-day.”

“Where did they catch him?”

“They haven’t caught him.  He has disappeared completely—­that’s the strangest part of it.  Your detective didn’t die, after all.”

“He recovered, did he?  I’m mighty glad of that.”

“Yes, but you aren’t out of the woods yet.  I can’t understand why the police haven’t discovered your whereabouts.  You left New York openly under the name of Locke—­”

“Perhaps it was so easy they overlooked it.”  He smiled ruefully.  I’d hate to be arrested just now when I’m getting to be such a good conductor.”

“Don’t worry about that until the time comes.  I’ll get you the papers later.”  She showed no immediate intention of rising, however, but sat regarding her visitor with slightly heightened color.  He began to feel embarrassed.  It seemed to be his fate to receive benefits at this woman’s hand, whether he willed it or not.

He got to his feet with an effort, and said, looking down upon her: 

“I must go now; but first I want to make you feel how grateful I am for your kindness and for your continued trust in me.  I haven’t deserved it, I know, but—­” He turned as if to leave, but faced her again as he heard her pronounce his name.  He was surprised to see that there were tears in her eyes.

“Kirk,” she said, “you’re an awfully good sort, and I can’t stay angry with you.  Do you know you’ve made it rather hard for me staying away all this time?”

“I thought you never wanted to see me again.”

“You shouldn’t take so seriously what a woman says under such circumstances.  It’s embarrassing.  It makes things seem worse than they are.”  She hesitated, as if to emphasize the difficulty of such candor.

Kirk said, gently: 

“Does that mean that we can forget all about it and be good friends again?  Does it mean that you’ll forgive me?”

“I can’t quite promise that,” she answered.  “But there is no need of your avoiding me; and it’s absurd for you to feel as you do, that you can’t accept any little services from me that might help you in your work.  I’m still interested in your success.”

“You’re tremendously good,” he answered, really touched.  “I can’t say anything, except that I’ll try to be worthy of your kindness.”