“Then your grandfather doesn’t wish you to know.  I am his lawyer—­at least I am one of his lawyers—­and a lawyer must respect the confidences of his clients.”

Mary Louise looked at him wonderingly, for here was someone who evidently knew the entire truth.

“Do you believe my grandfather is a bad man?” she asked.

“No.  I have the highest respect for Colonel Weatherby.”

“Do you know his name to be Weatherby—­or is it Hathaway?”

“I am his lawyer,” reiterated Mr. Conant.

“Is it possible that an innocent man would change his name and hide, rather than face an unjust accusation?”

“Yes.”

Mary Louise sighed.

“I will go with you to the hotel and pay your bill,” said the lawyer.  “Then you may go to the house and talk to Hannah.  When I have talked with her myself, we will determine what to do with you.”

So they went to the hotel and the girl packed her suit case and brought it downstairs.

“Queer!” said Mr. Conant to her, fingering his locket.  “Your bill has been paid by that man O’Gorman.”

“How impertinent!” she exclaimed.

“There is also a note for you in your box.”

The clerk handed her an envelope, which she opened.  “I hope to be able to send you your grandfather’s address very soon,” wrote O’Gorman.  “You will probably stay in Dorfield; perhaps with the Conants, with whom you lived before.  You might try sending Colonel Weatherby a letter in care of Oscar Lawler, at Los Angeles, California.  In any event, don’t forget my card or neglect to wire me in case of emergency.”

Having read this with considerable surprise the girl handed the note to Mr. Conant, who slowly read it and gave a bark like that of an angry dog when he came to the name of the California attorney.  Without remark he put the detective’s letter in his pocket and picking up Mary Louise’s suit case led the girl outside to the street corner.

“This car will take you to within two blocks of my house,” he said.  “Can you manage your grip alone?”

“Easily,” she assured him.

“You have carfare!”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Then good-bye.  I’ll see you this evening.”

He turned away and she boarded the street car.

CHAPTER XI

MARY LOUISE MEETS IRENE

As Mary Louise approached the home of the Conants, which was a pretty little house set far back in a garden filled with trees and shrubs, she was surprised to hear a joyous ragtime tune being drummed upon the piano—­an instrument she remembered Mrs. Conant kept in the house exclusively as an ornament, being unable to play it.  Then, as the girl reached the porch, the melody suddenly stopped, a merry laugh rang out and a fresh, sweet voice was heard through the open window talking rapidly and with eager inflection.

“I wonder who that can be?” thought Mary Louise.  Everyone had to speak loudly to poor Mrs. Conant, who might be entertaining a visitor.  She rang the bell and soon her old friend appeared in the doorway.