had she known him without Beth's being
aware of it? And why should Beth be involved in the danger?

Peter was slowly coming to the belief that there had been two men
outside the house last night, "Hawk" and John Bray. And yet it seemed
scarcely possible that the men on guard should not have seen the second
man and that both men could have gotten away without leaving a trace.
And where was the man with the black mustache? Was he John Bray?
Impossible. It was all very perplexing. But here in his hand he held the
tangible evidence of McGuire's fears. "You know what I've got and I know
what you've got." The sentence seemed to have a cabalistic
significance--a pact--a threat which each man held over the other.
Perhaps it wasn't money only that "Hawk" wanted. Whatever it was, he
meant to have it, and soon. The answer the man expected was apparently
something well understood between himself and McGuire, better understood
perhaps since the day McGuire had seen him in New York and had fled in
terror to Sheldon, Senior's, office. And if McGuire didn't send the
desired answer to the tree by Friday night, there would be the very
devil to pay--if not "Hawk."

Peter was to be the bearer of ill tidings and with them, he knew, all
prospect of a business discussion would vanish. The situation interested
him, as all things mysterious must, and he could not forget that he was,
for the present, part policeman, part detective; but forestry was his
real job here and every day that passed meant so many fewer days in
which to build the fire towers. And these he considered to be a prime
necessity to the security of the estate.

He rolled the placard up and went toward the house. On the lawn he
passed the young people, intent upon their own pursuits. He was glad
that none of them noticed him and meeting Stryker, who was hovering
around the lower hall, he sent his name up to his employer.

"I don't think Mr. McGuire expects you just yet, sir," said the man.

"Nevertheless, tell him I must see him," said Peter. "It's important."

Though it was nearly two o'clock, McGuire was not yet dressed and his
looks when Peter was admitted to him bespoke a long night of anxiety and
vigil. Wearing an incongruous flowered dressing gown tied at the waist
with a silken cord, he turned to the visitor.

"Well," he said rather peevishly.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. McGuire, but something has happened that
I thought----"

"What's happened?" the other m