At the noon luncheon Mary Louise was accorded a warm reception by the assembled boarders and this cordial welcome by her school-mates did much to restore the girl to her normal condition of cheerfulness.  She even joined a group in a game of tennis after luncheon and it was while she was playing that little Miss Dandler came with, a message that Mary Louise was wanted in Miss Stearne’s room at once.

“Take my racquet,” she said to Jennie Allen; “I’ll be back in a minute.”

When she entered Miss Stearne’s room she was surprised to find herself confronted by the same man whom she and her grandfather had encountered in front of Cooper’s Hotel the previous afternoon—­the man whom she secretly held responsible for this abrupt change in her life.  The principal sat crouched over her desk as if overawed by her visitor, who stopped his nervous pacing up and down the room as the girl appeared.

“This is Mary Louise Burrows,” said Miss Stearne, in a weak voice.

“Huh!” He glared at her with a scowl for a moment and then demanded:  “Where’s Hathaway?”

Mary Louise reddened.

“I do not know to whom you refer,” she answered quietly.

“Aren’t you his granddaughter?”

“I am the granddaughter of Colonel James Weatherby, sir.”

“It’s all the same; Hathaway or Weatherby, the scoundrel can’t disguise his personality.  Where is he?”

She did not reply.  Her eyes had narrowed a little, as the Colonel’s were sometimes prone to do, and her lips were pressed firmly together.

“Answer me!” he shouted, waving his arms threateningly.

“Miss Stearne,” Mary Louise said, turning to the principal, “unless you request your guest to be more respectful I shall leave the room.”

“Not yet you won’t,” said the man in a less boisterous tone.  “Don’t annoy me with your airs, for I’m in a hurry.  Where is Hathaway—­or Weatherby—­or whatever he calls himself?”

“I do not know.”

“You don’t, eh?  Didn’t he leave an address?”

“No.”

“I don’t believe you.  Where did he go?”

“If I knew,” said Mary Louise with dignity, “I would not inform you.”

He uttered a growl and then threw back his coat, displaying a badge attached to his vest.

“I’m a federal officer,” he asserted with egotistic pride, “a member of the Government’s Secret Service Department.  I’ve been searching for James J. Hathaway for nine years, and so has every man in the service.  Last night I stumbled upon him by accident, and on inquiring found he has been living quietly in this little jumping-off place.  I wired the Department for instructions and an hour ago received orders to arrest him, but found my bird had flown.  He left you behind, though, and I’m wise to the fact that you’re a clew that will lead me straight to him.  You’re going to do that very thing, and the sooner you make up your mind to it the better for all of us.  No nonsense, girl!  The Federal Government’s not to be trifled with.  Tell me where to find your grandfather.”