ang these six months. It was Wrentz, Jo, and I made a haul of
papers that'll get somebody into trouble."

"Oh, don't hurt the young one," cried Pauline. "He tried to help me."

"Rocco? He was dead when they picked him up. And, now, Miss Marvin,
hadn't I better get you a taxi?"

"Yes, thank you, but," with irrepressible curiosity, "how did you know
me?"

Burgess smiled. "How did I know you? I beg your pardon, Miss, but for
nearly a year your picture's been in every paper, more or less, in the
United States. You're a big head-liner--it's an honor to meet you,
face to face. But it's Blount has all the luck. He's saved you--he'll
be a head-liner himself tomorrow."

The hot color rushed over Pauline's face. "A head-liner"--so that
was what she meant to the public, to the man on the street.

"Please, Please, don't let this get into the Papers," she begged.
"I'll do anything in the world for you if you'll just keep it out of
the papers."

"Will you tell us about those other adventures?"

Burgess asked eagerly. "It's a sure thing that somebody's been pulling
the wires, making you walk the tight rope, and somebody that knows
everything you do. Any man on the force who could spot him would be
made."

"No, no," Pauline insisted, an uneasy remembrance of Harry's suspicions
lending emphasis to her denial. "Some of those things were done before
anybody out of the house could know."

"Just as I said," Burgess agreed triumphantly.

"It's somebody in the house. Why he knew about your bull terrier, and
the papers had it had just been given you the day before--darned
clever little dog to give your folks the clue."

"Cyrus?" Pauline's face broke into smiles and dimples. "He's the
cleverest, dearest, most beautiful dog in the world."

"Fine dog, yes Miss, if he's like the picture the reporters got."

Pauline's face clouded--for the moment she had forgotten the horrors
of publicity.

"You won't put this in the papers?" she pleaded.

"He shan't," Blount raised himself weakly on his elbow. "If the
reporters haven't got it already, we'll keep you out of it anyhow,
Miss."

"Keep a scoop like this out of the papers?" Burgess laughed aloud.
"You're talking through your hat, Blount, it can't be done."

In one terrible flash Pauline saw her name in capitals, her photograph
almost life-size, photographs of her trunk, the gorilla, Blount, in
head-liners, too, and Harry, furious, too far away for moral suasion;
s