y. "That's right, stick by Harry," he said to
himself. "She's a sticker and then some," he added, frowning toward the
check-book and the poised pen.

"Mr. Drew?"

The detective took one step in her direction. He waited then.

"Mr. Drew, how much money do I owe you? I'll pay you out of my account
until the estate is settled."

The detective smiled broadly. "Nothing," he said, toying with his watch
chain. "I don't think you owe me anything in this case."

"Oh, but I do!"

"I don't think so. Your father retained me. He was--was slain through
my own carelessness. I think I owe you something."

"I can't let it remain that way." Loris turned and widened her eyes. A
tiny pout sweetened her mouth. Nichols came across the rugs and stood
by her side. He turned to Drew.

"That wouldn't be fair," he said. "You certainly earned your fee in
this case. Why, you look five years older than when you came up into my
rooms with that little pistol!"

Drew touched his mustache. He closed his lips. Fatigue swept over him
as he said huskily:

"I've aged, yes. Well, I guess I have. The responsibility was more than
I expected."

"How much?" asked Loris, opening the check-book.

Drew raised his eyes to the ceiling. A faint smile brightened his olive
skin and brought out the fullness of his cheeks.

"Five thousand dollars," he said, without glancing at Loris.

She dipped the pen into the ink well, leaned her elbow on the leaf of
the writing desk and hastily scratched a check with angular writing
which had certainly been cultivated in a select boarding school. She
turned, waved the check in the air, then rose and advanced toward the
detective, who had not lowered his eyes.

"Thank you," she said, holding out the oblong of tinted paper. "I want
to thank you."

Nichols stared at the detective. The soldier's eyes were like bayonets
beneath a parapet. He had thought the figure rather high. Loris had no
one to advise her save himself and the presence of Drew had tied his
tongue.

"I want to thank you," repeated Loris.

Drew lowered his eyes and reached for the check. He glanced at it,
started folding two edges, then smiled brightly as he crossed the room,
picked up the mother-of-pearl penholder and dipped it into the ink.

"I'll endorse it," he said, flattening out the check with his palm.
"I'll endorse it so that it can be transferred."

"To whom?" asked Loris.

"Why, to where it belongs. Do you think that I could take it? I