ommunity; he meant somebody in
between, one of the doubtful cases.

"A Mr. Powers, sir. He's been here perhaps half an hour."

It may readily be supposed that I had not forgotten the name of Powers;
the name and the incident were irrevocably--and uncomfortably--fixed in
my mind. This "person" might not be the same Powers, but in overwhelming
probability he was. Even if Jenny had not been in communication with
him--and I did not believe that she had--the paragraphs would easily
have brought about this visit--or visitation. He came scenting prey--he
had read of the heiress! But why had she let him in?

"Did he give you a card, Loft?"

"Yes, sir. I took it in, and Miss Driver told me to ask the person to
come in."

If it were not material, neither was it necessary to ask what Loft
thought about the matter. Plainly Mr. Powers was not up to his standard
for drawing-room visitors.

"Have you got the card?"

He took it from the hall table. "Mr. Nelson Powers." There was no
address.

"All right, Loft. But before I join them, I want to telephone to
London." Of course Mr. Driver had installed a telephone, and many a day
we had kept it very busy.

By luck I got into speedy communication with Cartmell at his hotel. He
heard my news. His answer was to the point: "Kick him out."

"But if I try to do that, it gives you away. You're not supposed to have
told me."

"Then give me away," came back instantly. "Only get him out. He's a
dangerous rascal--and not fit for any decent man or woman to talk to.
How in Heaven's name she can----"

"Perhaps she's frightened," I pleaded. He answered only "Kick him out,"
and cut off communication.

She did not look at all frightened when I went in. She was standing
opposite Powers, smiling gayly and mischievously. Powers was apparently
just taking his leave. So much gained! I determined to go to the hall
with him and give him a hint, on Cartmell's behalf, that he need not
come again. But things were not to be as easy as that.

"Well, then, we shall see you at eight o'clock," said Jenny, giving him
her hand.

"Delighted," said he, bowing low. "Good afternoon. Good afternoon, Miss
Chatters." Chat was sitting by, tatting. She habitually tatted.

"This is my old friend Mr. Nelson Powers," said Jenny. "Mr. Powers--Mr.
Austin." We bowed--neither of us cordially. The man's eyes were wary and
very alert; he looked at me as though I might be a policeman in plain
clothes; possibly my expres