Kenneth Griswold.

The mention of Griswold's name reminded Raymer of his own affair, and he
became suddenly anxious to have the connection with the Widow Holcomb's
house renewed. When the crossed wire was plugged out, Griswold was ready
and waiting.

"I was afraid you might be out somewhere, and I want to have a pow-wow
with you," said Raymer, when the reassuring voice came over the wire.
"Can you give me a little time if I drive around?" And when the prompt
assent came: "All right; thank you. I'll be with you in a pair of
minutes."

Raymer's horse was only a short half-square away, hitched in front of
the Winnebago House, and he went to get it. But at the instant of
unhitching, Miss Grierson's trap was driven up and the untying of knots
paused while he stepped from the curb to stand at the wheel of the
modish equipage.

"You are getting to be as bad as all the others," was the greeting he
got from the high driving-seat. "You haven't been at Mereside for an
age--only once since the night you took Mr. Griswold away from us. By
the way, what has become of Mr. Griswold? He doesn't show himself in
public much oftener than you do."

"I think he has been getting to work on his writing," said Raymer,
good-naturedly apologizing for his friend. "He'll come down out of the
clouds after a little." And then, before he could stop it, out came the
bit of unchartered information: "I understand he dines at Doctor
Bertie's to-night."

The young iron-founder was looking up into the eyes of beguiling when he
said this, and, being a mere man, he wondered what made them flash and
then grow suddenly fathomless and brooding.

"When you see him, tell him that we are still on earth over at
Mereside," said the magnate's daughter pertly; and a moment later Raymer
was free to keep his appointment with Griswold.

All in all, the little interruption had consumed no more than five
minutes, but the time interval was sufficient to form another link in
the chain of Wednesday incidents. For, as Raymer was turning out of Main
Street into Shawnee, he narrowly missed running over a heavy-set man
with a dark face and drooping mustaches; a pedestrian whose
preoccupation seemed so great as to make him quite oblivious to street
crossings and passing vehicles until Raymer pulled his horse back into
the shafts and shouted.

When the man looked up, Raymer recognized him as the stranger from the
South who was stopping at the Winnebago House and who gave