r. Morris has done no wrong," she declared, spiritedly. "And there
is no need of his concealing himself."

"Of course I will not say as to that." His voice was soothing and low.
"But he makes a mistake in not coming forward. His name, you have
noticed, has already appeared in the papers in direct connection with
the murder."

He glanced at her keenly once more.

"It may be that he has gone away upon some urgent business," she said.
"And the chances are that he has not heard anything of the matter."

"If he had gone away on business, don't you think he would have
mentioned it to someone?"

"Perhaps he did not think it necessary. And again, maybe he did not
expect to be gone so long. Such things frequently happen, you know."

"They do," admitted Ashton-Kirk. "But in the case of Allan Morris,
they somehow fail to fit. I am convinced that he is in hiding."

She regarded him steadily for a moment; then she said:

"You are convinced, you say?"

"I am."

"May I ask upon what your conviction is based?"

"Not now--no."

There was another pause; the man was at the door, ready to show the
investigator out.

"Perhaps," and her tone was very low, "you even fancy that you know
his hiding-place."

"Not just yet," said he, "but in a few hours at most, I will."

Her lips formed the good-by as he stood in the doorway; but she made
no sound. And Ashton-Kirk as he walked down the hall, smiled quietly
to himself.

CHAPTER XVII

WHAT HAPPENED ON THE ROAD

About half an hour after Ashton-Kirk had left the Vale mansion, a
Maillard car drew up before the door. As it did so, an Italian laborer
arose from the curb not far away where he had been comfortably seated
with his back against a tree; then throwing his arms wide in a
luxurious yawn, he started leisurely down the street.

Five minutes later, a veiled, dust-coated female figure descended the
step; the driver of the Maillard was dismissed, and Miss Vale
composedly took his place at the wheel. As the car started forward,
the gauntleted hands guided it firmly; the steady eyes were set
straight ahead as the lever was pushed first to one speed and then
another.

And as the rapid pulse of the motor was borne along the quiet avenue,
the Italian laborer calmly appeared from around a corner, pushing a
powerful-looking motor cycle before him. Another moment and the
machine was sounding its wild fusillade; the Italian sped away in the
same direction as the Maillard,