wn up into what he meant to be a
pleasing smile, but which more resembled a smirk.

Jess, ignoring his proffered hand, leaped lightly to the sidewalk and,
responding somewhat frigidly to his pleasantries, made her way into the
bank. A cold nod was all that had passed between Fanning and Roy, though
young Harding had looked astonished at beholding the other in Jess's car.
Before long the girl tripped out of the building once more. But this time
she carried with her a black leather case. Fanning was once more at her
side and insisted on helping her into the car, holding her arm rather
tightly as he did so.

"I wish I could accompany you," he said. "Ten thousand dollars' worth of
jewels is a rather risky thing to carry about."

"Oh, I have a splendid escort, thank you," spoke up Jess, frigidly. She
drew on her gauntlets and began fumbling with the levers. Roy was already
out of the car and cranking up.

"It would be the pleasure of the ride," said Fanning, in a low voice. "If
I were with you I could almost wish somebody would try to hold us up so
that I could show you what I could do in your defence."

"Just as you did that day at school when poor little Henry Willis was
being beaten by that big bully Hank Jones?" asked Jess, quietly.
Fanning's glances, and the emphasis he threw into what he said, were very
distasteful to her, and she took what proved an effectual means of
squelching him.

"You know I had a sore wrist that day and couldn't get into a fight with
Hank," said Fanning, but his eyes were downcast and he had not much more
to say. Presently the auto chugged off, leaving the disgruntled youth
standing on the sidewalk following it with his eyes.

"So you're trying to win out Jess Bancroft, are you?" the over-dressed
lad thought to himself. "Well, Roy Prescott, I guess that settles you.
I've never liked you, and now that I've a chance to get the upper hand of
you I'm going to use it. You'll regret this auto ride to-day in days to
come, or I'm very much mistaken."

He turned and reentered the bank, but presently emerged again in a
leather coat of black material, black leggings and black cap and goggles.
Hauling out his motor-cycle from a rack in front of the bank he wheeled
it into the street, and with an admiring crowd of small boys looking on,
started the swift, four-cylindered machine. In a cloud of dust he
vanished in the same direction as had Jess Bancroft's car.

Jess, once the confines of the village