and displeased. I ought
never to have tried to help her. I might have known she wouldn't play
fairly."

Grace flung herself into a chair and again began a perusal of the
disturbing clipping. "Pretty Senior Plays Sleuth," she read. "Larry, the
Locksmith, Captured." A tide of crimson swept over her face as she read
further. "Overton College Girl Tracks Dangerous Criminal to His Lair. If
Miss Grace Harlowe, a senior at Overton College, had not been possessed
of a remarkably good memory for faces, Lawrence Baines, known to the
underworld as 'Larry, the Locksmith,' would undoubtedly be at large
to-day. Miss Harlowe, whose home is in Oakdale----"

With a despairing groan, Grace dashed the clipping to the floor, and
springing to her feet began walking nervously up and down the room. She
had not dreamed that Kathleen could find it in her heart to behave so
despicably. She had shamefully abused the confidence that Grace had
reposed in her for what seemed in Grace's eyes to be an infinitesimally
small gain. Her cheeks burned as she thought of the thousands of people
who had seen her name blazoned at the head of a column of police court
news. Her father always bought the very paper in which it stood on his
way to the office in the morning. He had, of course, seen it. He now
knew that she had broken her word.

A sob rose to her lips, then she threw back her head with an air of
resolution and, hastily drawing her chair in front of the table, seized
her fountain pen, and opening it with an energy that left several ink
spots on her white silk blouse, began a letter to her father. For an
hour she continued to write steadily, covering sheet after sheet of
paper. At last she signed her name, and with a mournful sigh folded her
letter, slipping it into the envelope without reading it. Putting on her
wraps, she left the house and hurried to the post office, where she sent
her letter by special delivery.

But another task still lay before her. Grace's fine face hardened. It
was not a pleasant task, but it would have to be done. She hoped the
newspaper girl would be in her room, and she hoped Patience had not yet
returned from Westbrook. Grace rang the bell at Wayne Hall with more
zeal than was strictly necessary, thereby exciting a scowl from the maid
who answered the door. She peeped into the living room, but Kathleen was
not among the girls there.

At the head of the stairs she halted. The door of Kathleen's room was
closed. "Is she