out, with a quick glance at
the newcomer. "It will make it all the easier for you. I tell you this
is the sheriff, and we've got you both dead to rights."

"But," she urged, "why should I be arrested? I have done nothing."

"You're an adventuress--a damn adventuress--Hawley's mistress,
probably--a--"

"Now, see here, Waite," and Fairbain swung himself forward, "you drop
that. Miss Maclaire is my friend, and if you say another word I'll smash
you, sheriff or no sheriff."

Waite glared at him.

"You old fool," he snorted, "what have you got to do with this?"

"I've got this to do with it, you'll find--the woman is to be treated
with respect or I'll blow your damned obstinate head off."

The sheriff laid his hand on Waite's shoulder.

"Come," he said, firmly, "this is no way to get at it. We want to know
certain facts, and then we can proceed lawfully. Let me question the
woman."

The two older men still faced one another belligerently, but Keith saw
Christie draw the doctor back from between her and the sheriff.

"You may ask me anything you please," she announced, quietly. "I am sure
these gentlemen will not fight here in my room."

"Very well, Miss Maclaire. It will require only a moment. How long have
you known this man Hawley?"

"Merely a few days--since I arrived in Sheridan."

"But you were in communication with him before that?"

The pleasant voice and quiet demeanor of the sheriff seemed to yield the
girl confidence and courage.

"Yes, he had written me two or three letters."

"You met him here then by appointment?"

"He was to come to Sheridan, and explain to me more fully what his
letters had only hinted at."

"You possessed no previous knowledge of his purpose?"

"Only the barest outline--details were given me later."

"Will you tell us briefly exactly what Hawley told you?"

The girl's bewildered eyes wandered from face to face, then returned to
the waiting sheriff.

"May--may I sit down?" she asked.

"Most certainly; and don't be afraid, for really we wish to be your
friends."

She sank down into the chair, and even Keith could see how her slender
form trembled. There was a moment's silence.

"Believe me, gentlemen," she began, falteringly, "if there is any fraud,
any conspiracy, I have borne no conscious part in it. Mr. Hawley came
to me saying a dying man had left with him certain papers, naming one,
Phyllis Gale, as heiress to a very large estate in North Carolina, left
by