“Is this a deliberate intrusion, because I am here, or is it pure insolence?”

“Forgive us if we intrude, Mr. Hathaway,” replied Agatha.  “It was not our desire to interrupt your meeting with your granddaughter, but—­it has been so difficult, in the past, to secure an interview with you, sir, that we dared not risk missing you at this time.”

He regarded her with an expression of astonishment.

“That’s it, exactly, Mr. Weatherby-Hathaway,” remarked Susan mockingly, from her window.

“Don’t pay any attention to them, Gran’pa Jim,” begged Mary Louise, clinging to him.  “They’re just two dreadful women who live down below here, and—­and—­”

“I realize who they are,” said the old gentleman in a calm voice, and addressing Agatha again he continued:  “Since you are determined to interview me, pray step inside and be seated.”

Agatha shook her head with a smile; Nan Shelley laughed outright and retorted: 

“Not yet, Hathaway.  We can’t afford to take chances with one who has dodged the whole Department for ten years.”

“Then you are Government agents?” he asked.

“That’s it, sir.”

He turned his head toward the door by which he had entered, for there was an altercation going on in the hallway and Mr. Conant’s voice could be heard angrily protesting.

A moment later the lawyer came in, followed by the little man with the fat nose, who bowed to Colonel Weatherby very respectfully yet remained planted in the doorway.

“This is—­er—­er—­very unfortunate, sir; ve-ry un-for-tu-nate!” exclaimed Peter Conant, chopping off each word with a sort of snarl.  “These con-found-ed secret service people have trailed us here.”

“It doesn’t matter, Mr. Conant,” replied the Colonel, in a voice composed but very weary.  He seated himself in a chair, as he spoke, and Mary Louise sat on the arm of it, still embracing him.

“No,” said O’Gorman, “it really doesn’t matter, sir.  In fact, I’m sure you will feel relieved to have this affair off your mind and be spared all further annoyance concerning it.”

The old gentleman looked at him steadily but made no answer.  It was Peter Conant who faced the speaker and demanded: 

“What do you mean by that statement?”

“Mr. Hathaway knows what I mean.  He can, in a few words, explain why he has for years borne the accusation of a crime of which he is innocent.”

Peter Conant was so astounded he could do nothing but stare at the detective.  Staring was the very best thing that Peter did and he never stared harder in his life.  The tears had been coursing down Mary Louise’s cheeks, but now a glad look crossed her face.

“Do you hear that, Gran’pa Jim?” she cried.  “Of course you are innocent!  I’ve always known that; but now even your enemies do.”

Mr. Hathaway looked long into the girl’s eyes, which met his own hopefully, almost joyfully.  Then he turned to O’Gorman.