“If you have finished your insolent remarks,” she answered with spirit, “I will go away.  You have interrupted my game of tennis.”

He gave a bark of anger that made her smile, but as she turned away he sprang forward and seized her arm, swinging her around so that she again faced him.

“Great Caesar, girl!  Don’t you realize what you’re up against?” he demanded.

“I do,” said she.  “I seem to be in the power of a brute.  If a law exists that permits you to insult a girl, there must also be a law to punish you.  I shall see a lawyer and try to have you properly punished for this absolute insolence.”

He regarded her keenly, still frowning, but when he spoke again he had moderated both his tone and words.

“I do not intend to be insolent, Miss Burrows, but I have been greatly aggravated by your grandfather’s unfortunate escape and in this emergency every moment is precious if I am to capture him before he gets out of America, as he has done once or twice before.  Also, having wired the Department that I have found Hathaway, I shall be discredited if I let him slip through my fingers, so I am in a desperate fix.  If I have seemed a bit gruff and nervous, forgive me.  It is your duty, as a loyal subject of the United States, to assist an officer of the law by every means in your power, especially when he is engaged in running down a criminal.  Therefore, whether you dislike to or not, you must tell me where to find your grandfather.”

“My grandfather is not a criminal, sir.”

“The jury will decide that when his case comes to trial.  At present he is accused of crime and a warrant is out for his arrest.  Where is he?”

“I do not know,” she persisted.

“He—­he left by the morning train, which goes west,” stammered Miss Stearne, anxious to placate the officer and fearful of the girl’s stubborn resistance.

“So the nigger servant told me,” sneered the man; “but he didn’t.  I was at the station myself—­two miles from this forsaken place—­to make sure that Hathaway didn’t skip while I was waiting for orders.  Therefore, he is either hidden somewhere in Beverly or he has sneaked away to an adjoining town.  The old serpent is slippery as an eel; but I’m going to catch him, this time, as sure as fate, and this girl must give me all the information she can.”

“Oh, that will be quite easy,” retorted Mary Louise, somewhat triumphantly, “for I have no information to divulge.”

He began to pace the room again, casting at her shrewd and uncertain glances.

“He didn’t say where he was going?”

“No.”

“Or leave any address?”

“No.”

“What did he say?”

“That he was going away and would arrange with Miss Stearne for me to board at the school.”

“Huh!  I see.  Foxy old guy.  Knew I would question you and wouldn’t take chances.  If he writes you, or you learn what has become of him, will you tell me?”