ictive.
The man who could make people suffer as Lawrence and I did ought to be
punished."

"He ought. Well, I'm going to warn Lawrence, and no doubt the proper
thing would be to be satisfied with this, but somehow I'm not. You
see, Walters probably doesn't know we suspect him."

The girl's eyes narrowed and Foster knew she was afraid, but did not
think fear was her strongest emotion.

"You mean he may try again?"

"That is what I mean. If he comes back, you must watch him, but keep
him here until I arrive. If it's impossible for me to come, send for
the police."

"Yes," said Lucy quietly, "I'll try."

"There's another risk," said Foster. "He may send an accomplice;
they're a well-organized gang. In this matter, I'd sooner trust you
than Lawrence." He stopped for a moment and gave her an apologetic
glance. "Perhaps I've done wrong to alarm and put this heavy load on
you."

"No," she said resolutely. "I have promised to marry Lawrence and must
help him."

Then she rose and gave Foster her hand. "I must thank you for your
confidence. If the need comes, I don't think I'll fail you."

Foster felt satisfied when she left him. Lucy was clever and had
pluck. He had given her a hard part, but she would not shrink. One
could trust a woman who was fighting for her lover.

After breakfast next morning, Mrs. Stephen showed Foster some
photographs of the mountains, in one or two of which Lucy and Lawrence
had a place, and he asked: "Have you a portrait of Walters?"

"No; the man who took these was staying here, and one day asked Walters
to join the group he was posing, but he refused."

"How did he get out of it?"

Lawrence, who had come in with Lucy, laughed. "Rather neatly. Said he
was a modest sentimentalist and would sooner leave his memory printed
on our hearts!"

"One must admit that he did something of the kind," Lucy remarked.

"Will you or Mrs. Stephen describe his looks?" Foster asked.

The girl did so and then inquired: "Why didn't you ask Lawrence?"

"If you want an accurate description of a man, it's better to ask a
women. Our classifications are rather vague; we say he's all right, a
good sport, or perhaps an outsider. You note all his idiosyncrasies,
the way he talks, the color of his hair----"

"I suppose we do," Mrs. Stephen agreed with a smile. "You are rather
shrewd."

"I don't see why that should surprise my friends, but it sometimes
does," Foster rejoined and went to t