your business."

"But it _is_ my business, Griffin. I am not a book agent, and never
was."

It was Mark's turn to smile.

"Which fact," he said, "is not information to me. I knew it long ago.
You are a detective."

"I am. Does that tell you nothing?"

"Nothing," replied Mark, "except that you make up splendidly as a
really decent sort of fellow."

"Perhaps I am a decent sort, decent enough, anyhow; and perhaps I don't
particularly like my business, but it _is_ my business. Now, look
here, Griffin, I want you to help instead of hindering me. I have to
ask this question of you: What do you know about Ruth Atheson? You see
her every day."

"So," said Mark, annoyed, "the constable has not been around for
nothing."

"You have seen him then?"

"Everywhere."

"Which proves he is a reliable constable, even if he is not a good
detective." Saunders looked pleased. "But what about Ruth Atheson?"

But Mark would have his innings now. He knew well how to keep Saunders
anxious.

"I am quite--well, interested in Miss Atheson."

"What!" Saunders half arose.

"Sit down, Saunders," said Mark quietly, "sit down. What's so
astonishing about that?"

"You--you--are engaged to Miss Atheson? You can't mean it!"

"I didn't say _that_."

Saunders sat down again. "You know nothing about her," he gasped.

"The Padre's friends are good enough to appeal to me."

"But does the Padre know?"

Mark's eyes began to steel and glitter. He fixed them on Saunders, and
his voice came very steady and quiet.

"Know what, Saunders? Know what?"

"Know what? Why, that Ruth Atheson is _not_ Ruth Atheson."

"Then who _is_ she?"

Saunders drew a deep breath, and stared hard at Mark for what seemed a
long time to both. The detective broke the tension.

"Griffin," he almost shouted, "either I am a fool, and ought to be
given a job as town crier, or you are the cleverest I've ever gone up
against, or--"

"Or," Mark's voice was still quiet, "I may be entirely lacking in the
knowledge which you possess. Get it off your mind, man--better do it
soon, for you will _have to_ later on, you know. I have _quite_ made
up my mind on that."

"Yes," Saunders seemed half satisfied, "yes, you may not know--it
really looks as if you didn't. Are you the simon-pure Mark Griffin,
brother of Baron Griffin of the Irish peerage?"

"Yes. Where did you get that last bit of information?"

Saunders ignored the query.

"Did you reall