would have managed
to warn him in some way as to our identity. But that she had not done
so, the mute's manner told me as plainly as words could have done.
Seeing this, I began figuring what it meant. If she was not associated
with Locke in the crime, why was she there? Immediately came the
answer--through Morris. But, when I saw her last, she denied any
knowledge of Morris's whereabouts. Then I reasoned, she had seen him
in the interim."

"That's it," cried Pendleton, as he stepped forward and slapped the
table with his palm; "that's it, beyond a doubt! He's managed to get
word to her; she's seen him; he's told her all or part of the truth;
and once more she's trying to help him. Why, Kirk, I'll venture to
say," hot with indignation, "that she was led to visit this little
scoundrel Locke, last night, much as she was led to visit Hume's place
on the night of the murder--completely in the dark, and merely with
some sort of a vague notion of protecting Morris."

"Perhaps you are right, but I can't exactly say. But that she has seen
Morris I have made quite sure."

"How?"

"Last night when I appeared at Locke's window, I established a reason
for calling upon her this morning, also I laid a foundation for what
followed. Before the call I made certain preparations for a quick
change of front," with a gesture that called attention to his costume;
"in our conversation, I managed to tell her that Morris's hiding
place was discovered. Then I left. As I expected, she at once called
her car and set off to warn him; and I followed close behind upon the
motor cycle."

"I see, I see. And did you get sight of him?"

Ashton-Kirk nodded. Then he proceeded to relate the story of the
noon-day run to the country house which Morris had selected as a
hiding place. When he had finished, Pendleton sat frowning blackly.

"Secret signals," said he. "He fears discovery so much that he has
forbidden her approaching the house. A regular code has been arranged,
eh? And the gloves were dropped in the road purposely; he slipped his
answer into one of them; on her way back she discovers her supposed
loss, looks for the gloves, and finds them. It is quite ornate," with
a bitter sneer.

Then he took from the investigator's hand the card upon which he had
copied the message of Allan Morris.

"Tobin Rangnow," he read. Then looking up he inquired with a wan
smile. "More secret writing, eh? Or is it a man's name?"

"There is a decided Irish fl