CHAPTER XXXIV

THE FIVE-BAR GATE

"It may interest you young people to know," the bishop was saying in the library, "that Annie Laurie--you know she was the daughter of Sir Robert Laurie of Maxwellton, and--er--she married an ancestor of mine."

"Really! Tell us about her," exclaimed Betty, leaning forward eagerly.

"I'm afraid there isn't much to tell except that she did not marry the poor young man--what was his name?--who wrote those tender verses about her?"

"She didn't?" frowned Bob, while Miss Thompson watched him with a roguish smile.

"No. She married my ancestor. I have always had the deepest sympathy for that unappreciated poet."

Young Baxter nodded wisely.

"Perhaps he'd have been more appreciated if he hadn't been so much of a poet. While he was making rhymes to Annie your ancestor got busy with the girl, and the first thing Mr. Poet knew the other fellow had landed her."

"Ha, ha, ha!" chuckled the prelate. "That sounds like one of your father's remarks."

"Speaking of Father," Bob glanced at his watch, "I'm expecting him up from town on this next train. I hope nothing detains him."

"I hope not," said the churchman earnestly. "I have been looking forward to seeing my dear old friend and--er--I wanted him to be present in case this detective reports anything that seems--er--important."

"Exactly," agreed the young man.

At this moment Merle entered, looking pale and anxious, and, bowing respectfully to the bishop, he went close to Baxter and said something in a low tone.

"Oh! All right. I'll see him," nodded Bob. Then to Betty and his lordship: "If you'll excuse me, I--er--there's a little matter I must attend to." And he hurried off, followed by Horatio.

"Oh, Mr. Merle! May I speak to you a moment?" called the bishop.

Horatio turned and a faint flush spread over the ashen gray of his thin face.

"Yes, your lordship."

Bunchester's eyes rested on the curate in kindly solicitude, then with a ruddy smile he turned to Betty.

"I must tell you, Miss Thompson, that Horatio Merle and I are friends of long standing, and naturally, when he came to my bedroom this afternoon with a tray of tea and toast--exquisitely served, I must say--I was somewhat surprised and--er--after a little talk, I became acquainted with the unusual and--er--interesting position that Mr. Merle has chosen to occupy in this household."

As the prelate went on his manner became more and more serious until now, turning to the astonished and abashed Horatio, he addressed him with all the impressiveness of his sonorous voice and his full episcopal dignity.

"Mr. Merle, you probably do not realize how deeply I was affected by what you told me this afternoon. I wish to shake hands with you, sir, and say, both as your bishop and as a fellow man, that I respect you and honor you for the fine simplicity and manliness you have shown here at Ipping House in accepting, I may say in seeking, a rather--er--humiliating position. I doubt, sir, if there is another clergyman in my diocese who would be capable of such an act of Christian self-effacement."

"I--I thank your lordship," murmured Horatio, retreating awkwardly toward the door.

"Wait! I haven't finished. Mr. Merle, you have builded better than you knew. It happens that my old friend, Dr. Dibble, the rector of St. Timothy's in Ippingford, has become so infirm that we are about to retire him on a pension. The living is in my hands and it is my intention, sir, in fact, it is my absolute decision, to offer it to you."

Horatio was so overcome by this extraordinary good news that for some moments he could not speak a word. Was it possible? He, a poor curate, who had made a failure of everything, suddenly lifted to this splendid height? He, the rector of St. Timothy's? He, Horatio Merle?

"Oh, your lordship!" he stammered.

"There is a fine old rectory with five or six acres of land and the prettiest rose garden in Kent. I am sure you and your wife will be happy there."

"Your lordship, I--I thank your lordship. I--I would add----"

Horatio stood quite still, holding a few strands of his side whiskers between an agitated thumb and forefinger. He opened and closed his mouth several times and then, in a tumult of suppressed feeling, he hurried from the room.

Just as he was closing the door Betty flew after him.

"Oh, Mr. Merle, I am so happy! I congratulate you with all my heart."

She clasped his hand impulsively with such sweetness and genuineness that the good man's confusion was made more complete, if that were possible.

"Thank you, Miss Thompson--thank you. Please don't say any more. I--I must go. I--must tell my wife."

Horatio hastened away, his eyes shining with tears of joy.

And now there came a bad quarter of an hour for Elizabeth Thompson. It was evidently her duty to tell the bishop immediately, without losing a moment, about the stolen money. This was her opportunity to tell him; she was alone with him and--she must tell him. And yet she could not speak. She had promised Hester Storm to say nothing until after Grimes had gone. She had promised faithfully, and--for the moment her lips were sealed.

"Bishop," she began, and in her eyes there was the shadow of impending trouble.

"Yes, my dear. Sit down." He made room for her beside him on the davenport.

"There's something I've wanted to speak to you about--that is----"

"I understand, my dear," he anticipated. "You have reference to that unfortunate affair on the train? You know I came here to-day for the express purpose of--er--that is to say, I shall be glad to obtain, in fact, the detective urged me to get from you, any information you can give regarding that painful occurrence."

"But--I wanted to ask you----"

She paused, biting her lips, and the prelate went on serenely.

"I have been told of your very great kindness to the suspected young woman who was in the carriage with us. I feel sure you acted in a sweet, pitying spirit, but you can hardly realize, my child, as one in my position does, the unwisdom of accepting too readily the unconfirmed statements of--er--shall I say plausible strangers. By the way do you happen to know what has become of this Jenny Regan?"

"Why--she told me--she spoke of living in New York, and--I think she was--going back there."

Betty's distress of mind was so evident that the bishop must surely have noticed it had it not been for the sudden entrance of Bob Baxter, whose pale face and disturbed manner showed that something serious had happened.

"I've been talking to the detective," he explained, "and--I want to apologize to both of you in advance, and especially to you, Betty, for what the man is going to say. He insists on coming in here, and--if I had my way I'd chuck him out of the house, but--he comes as an officer of the law, and I suppose I have no choice but to let him do what he considers his duty."

"Quite right," nodded the bishop. "We must respect the law."

Betty stared, white faced, before her while young Baxter went to the door and showed in the detective. Grimes had left his cigar outside.

"All right. Go ahead," said Bob with a contemptuous glance at the newcomer. "Only, please make it as short as possible."

"I'm not in the habit of wasting words, Mr. Baxter," answered Grimes curtly.

"You mustn't mind, Betty," continued the young fellow, "if he asks you some rather impertinent questions. It's only a formality, and it's part of his business. Now, sir!"

Quietly ignoring this high-handed manner, the detective seated himself, and, facing the troubled secretary, went straight at the business in hand.

"You remember Jenny Regan, the girl who was in the railway carriage when the Bishop of Bunchester discovered that his purse had been stolen?"

"Yes, I remember her," answered Betty.

"You took a great interest in this young woman, did you not? You offered her money, gave her your card, although she was a stranger. How was that?"

"I was sorry for her. She had had a hard struggle, and I wanted to help her."

"Fine!" exclaimed Bob, and Grimes flashed him a sharp glance from under his thick eyebrows.

"You had no idea she was a professional pickpocket?"

"No."

"No idea that she stole the bishop's purse?"

"Certainly not."

"You believed her to be an innocent and deserving person?"

"I did."

"Miss Thompson, are you still of that opinion?"

"I am sure she is a deserving person," was the firm reply.

"Who is?" asked Grimes quickly.

"Why, Hest--Jenny Regan," stammered Betty, and the detective smiled, but he paid no attention to this slip.

"You say deserving, but not innocent. Do you still think Jenny Regan innocent of stealing the bishop's purse?"

The crisis had come. Should Betty speak or keep silent? To speak would bring inevitable ruin upon this unfortunate girl, who had trusted her. Yet how could she not speak?

While she hesitated Bob spoke for her. "How can Miss Thompson possibly know whether Jenny Regan stole the bishop's purse or not?" he demanded.

"Miss Thompson has the best reason in the world for knowing that," Grimes answered, and there was a note of cold menace in his voice.

"See here," retorted the young fellow. "I won't stand for this. Either you make good your words or----"

"Keep still, my friend. I'll make my words good." Then, turning to the bishop, "I beg your lordship to believe that I am not speaking lightly." He drew from his pocket a brown leather purse clasped by an elastic band. "Does your lordship recognize this?"

"Bless my soul! My purse!" exclaimed the bishop. "Where did you find it?"

"With your lordship's permission I'll explain that--a little later."

Old Bunchester coughed impressively. "And the money?" he asked. "The five thousand pounds? Is it--in the purse?"

The detective shook his head. "Not a penny of it. The purse is empty. There!" He handed the lean wallet to its owner.

"Quite true," sighed the bishop. "It is empty."

"Do I understand that you found this purse somewhere about here--I mean about this house?" demanded Bob.

"Yes," said the detective.

"And you have no idea where the money is?" inquired Bunchester anxiously.

"I have a very distinct idea where the money is," answered Grimes slowly, "and this young lady----" he faced Betty accusingly, "she also has a very distinct idea where the money is."

At this Baxter's eyes blazed fiercely. "You dare to----"

"Wait, Bob!" The girl laid a restraining hand upon his arm. Then, lifting her head proudly, she challenged Grimes. "You mean to insinuate that I took the money from this purse?"

"Impossible!" murmured the bishop.

A hard smile played about the detective's mouth.

"You mean to deny that you know where the money is?"

She hesitated. "Why--er----"

"Where is it?" he demanded.

"I--I can't tell you."

"You refuse to answer?"

"I--must refuse." She thought of her promise to Hester.

"My dear child," interposed Bunchester kindly. "I'm sure you are actuated by the most honorable motives, but this is a case where the whole truth must be told."

"Go ahead, Betty; tell what you know," urged Bob.

"I--I----" she began weakly, but rallied with a flash of anger. "I'll not be questioned like this." Her pride and fighting spirit were stirred now. The idea that she was actually accused of stealing this money or of being an accomplice in the theft--it was outrageous, preposterous. Very well, if they thought her guilty they could keep on thinking so.

"I have made a serious charge here," Grimes proceeded quietly, "and I propose to prove it." He turned sharply to the girl. "Whose desk is that?"

"My desk," she answered.

The detective examined the drawers carefully. They were all unlocked except the top one on the left-hand side.

"You keep this drawer locked?"

"Usually."

"You have the key?"

"Yes. It's in my bag." She opened her bag and produced a flat key. "Here it is."

"Has anyone else a key to this drawer?"

"No."

Grimes looked at the key critically. "H'm! A spring lock. Do you mind opening this drawer?"

"Why should I open it? It's my private drawer." Betty thought of her Marcus Aurelius and Bob's precious letter. Why should these sacred things be dragged out by this vulgar detective?

"Oh, it's your private drawer, is it? Just the same, I must ask you to open it, Miss Thompson."

"Very well," yielded the girl. "There!" She put the key in the lock and turned it while Grimes watched her keenly.

"Now if your lordship will look in this drawer?" he said.

"Certainly," bowed the prelate, and he pulled out the drawer to its full length, then started back with a cry of amazement. "Good heavens!" He drew forth a bundle of folded banknotes. "It's the stolen money," he declared. "The exact amount! The identical notes! Five thousand pounds!"

Betty started in bewilderment. "But--I don't understand," she said.

Old Bunchester turned to the girl in deep concern. "My dear Miss Thompson, this is exceedingly painful, exceedingly compromising. I beg you most earnestly, in the interest of everyone, in your own interest, to tell us how it comes that this money is found in your desk. You must explain this mystery, indeed you must."

"Hold on!" cried Bob, springing forward, his whole face transfigured, and here it was, in the words of Hiram Baxter, that the boy showed himself a thoroughbred and took the five-bar gate in one clean leap. "Don't say a word, Betty. Don't explain anything. You're the finest, pluckiest girl I ever knew, and right now, without any explanation, I ask you to be my wife."

"Bob!" she cried, and her whole soul was in her eyes.

"It's all right, dear." He stood close beside her and drew her to him protectingly. "There are two of us now." Then, turning to Grimes: "Go ahead with your silly little game."

"All very pretty," sniffed the detective, while the bishop looked on in purple amazement, "but, before we get through with our silly little game you may not find it as silly as you think."

He strode across the library to the foot of the little stair and pointed to the mezzanine door. "If Miss Thompson was so confident that Jenny Regan was a deserving person why did she hide her in that room this morning?"

"What?" cried Bob.

Grimes fixed his hard gaze on Betty. "Do you deny that you hid Hester Storm, otherwise known as Jenny Regan, in that room?"

The girl eyed him steadily. "It's true," she said; "but--I can explain it."

Young Baxter started to his feet. "It isn't possible this Storm girl who's been working here is--Jenny Regan?"

Grimes nodded. "Jenny Regan is one of her aliases. It's a matter of police record. You knew this, didn't you?" He turned to Betty, whose cheeks were aflame with anger.

"Yes, I knew it," she flung back, "and what is more----"

"You knew she was a thief and a pickpocket?" he added.

With an effort the girl checked herself and stood panting.

"If your lordship will give me a few moments," she said in a low tone, "I can make everything clear. You don't mind, Bob? Just a few moments?"

Baxter bowed to her wish. "Of course I don't mind. Come on," he said to Grimes.

"Not I," refused the latter. "Miss Thompson says she can make things clear to his lordship. So can I. His lordship's purse was stolen by Hester Storm, alias Jenny Regan, but this young woman," he swept Betty with a cruel look, "was an accessory after the fact."

"You miserable hound!" roared Bob.

And the bishop said solemnly: "My dear sir, you are making an incredible accusation. Miss Thompson is a lady--a friend of mine. I knew her estimable father."

"I can only lay the facts before your lordship," shrugged the detective. He went to the library door, and, motioning quickly, returned followed by Hester Storm, who looked neither to the right nor the left, but held her eyes straight down before her, as if studying the yellowish pattern in the carpet. Betty watched her in surprise.

"There," Grimes pointed to Hester, "is my answer to your lordship's doubts. What is this woman doing here? She is a notorious thief and a pickpocket. Why did she come to Ipping House? Why did your lordship's friend, Miss Thompson, shelter her in that bedroom and try to prevent me from arresting her? The answer is easy. It was because Miss Thompson proposed to share the money this Storm girl had stolen from your lordship."

"That's a lie!" rang out Betty's swift denial. "Tell them it's a lie. You must tell them," she appealed frantically to Hester.

But the Storm girl never moved; she never spoke; she never lifted her eyes from the carpet.

And Grimes went on relentlessly: "If Miss Thompson was innocent of this crime why did she not tell the whole truth about it when she was alone with your lordship not half an hour ago?"

"I wanted to tell the truth," insisted Betty, "but I had promised this poor girl that I would do nothing until--until the detective had gone." Again she appealed to Hester. "You know that is true. Tell them it's true."

But the Storm girl stood there like a frozen image, her lips closed, her eyes cast down. And a sickening terror filled Betty's breast.

"Your lordship must see that there is a strong case against this young woman." Grimes moved toward Betty with a grim tightening of the lips. "You'll have to come with me." He laid a hand on her arm.

Instantly Bob Baxter stepped forward, his face as white as Betty's.

"Take your hands off that lady."

"Oh, I don't know," retorted Grimes. "I'm an officer of the law and----"

"My dear Mr. Baxter," reasoned the bishop, interposing his portly and venerable presence between the excited adversaries, "believe me, we must respect the majesty of the law."

"Majesty nothing," stormed Bob. "I tell you----"

"I tell you to step back," ordered the detective. "And you----" he faced Miss Thompson, "consider yourself under arrest. If you have anything to get ready you'd better do it. We start in----" he glanced at his watch, "in ten minutes."

"Start?" cried Baxter, aghast.

The seriousness of the situation was now clear to everyone.

"See here," the young man appealed to Grimes after a moment's thought, "there's some horrible mistake. Miss Thompson had nothing to do with stealing that money. She couldn't steal. Look at her, man! You know she couldn't. I'll be responsible anyway, or my father will, for the money and everything else. You can't drag her off like this and disgrace her. By God, I won't let you."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I've no choice. A crime has been committed, and--there's evidence enough to hold her on if she was a cousin of the queen."

"Under arrest!" murmured Betty twining her fingers together piteously and fixing her eyes on Hester.

At this moment the sound of carriage wheels was heard outside. Bob went quickly to the window.

"It's Father," he said with a movement of relief. "Cheer up, Betty. Dad will think of something."

A moment later Hiram Baxter entered the room. His face was ashen gray. He looked broken and ill, but a flicker of the old bright smile spread over his rugged face as he glanced about the room.

"Hello, everybody! Why, hello, Bish!" He tapped Bunchester playfully on the shoulder. "I'm awful glad to see you, Bish." Then, as he noticed the universal gloom, "Say, it strikes me you folks are a little frappay. What's wrong? What are you doing here?" he asked Grimes.

The detective started to explain, but Bob cut in eagerly.

"One moment! Father, did you leave twenty-five thousand dollars in the drawer of that desk?"

"Twenty-five thousand dollars! Say, boy, is this a joke? If it is, I tell ye straight I don't like it."

"No, Father, it's not a joke; it's very far from a joke. Did you leave it there?"

"Twenty-five thousand dollars in that desk? Say, if you knew what I've been through to-day! I've been scratchin' around down where the avenues are paved with red-hot bricks, lookin' for twenty-five thousand dollars. And I didn't find it, either. No, sir, I left no money in that desk. It ain't my desk, anyway; it's Betty's desk."

"Ah!" smiled Grimes.

"Say, who are you, anyway?"

"I'm Grimes from Scotland Yard."

"Let me explain," put in Betty. "I--I'm in great trouble, Guardy."

"I'll tell him, dear," said Bob. "Father, I--I've asked Betty to be my wife."

"Well, it ain't that that's makin' ye look like a funeral, is it?" drawled Hiram. "Go on, now; let me have it."

Betty and Bob spoke at the same time, both pointing scornful fingers at Grimes.

"He says that I----"

"He dares to say that Betty----"

"Easy now! Not all at once. Say, Bish, you'd better tell it."

Bunchester coughed impressively. "My dear friend, it seems incredible, but the fact is Mr. Grimes thinks that Miss Thompson was concerned in the--er--misappropriation of that five thousand pounds."

"That was stolen from you? Betty Thompson? No, no, no!" thundered the old man.

"That is how we all feel, but, with the utmost regret I am forced to bear witness that this exact sum and, I believe, the identical banknotes were found in Miss Thompson's desk--there."

"Five thousand pounds? What does this mean, Betty? How did that money get in your desk?"

"I--I don't know," the unhappy girl answered. Grimes looked at his watch again. "No use of any more talk," he said gruffly. "It's time to start and----" motioning to Betty, "you'll have to come with me."

"You don't mean----" Hiram's eyes burned savagely.

"I mean that these two women are under arrest, sir, charged with grand larceny, and I'm going to take 'em to London by the next train."

"But--I won't have it."

"Better not interfere, sir. I've men outside to help me, and--I'm going to take 'em. Come now." He caught Betty by the arm and marched her, half fainting, toward the door.

At this moment Hester Storm lifted her eyes, opened her lips, and spoke in a strange, low tone:

"Wait! You mustn't take her. She didn't steal the money. She had nothing to do with it. I stole the money. I put it in that desk. I'm the one to take."

"Hester!" cried Betty. "You--you put that money in my desk?" repeated Betty slowly.

"Yes. I meant to steal it or--I meant to steal half of it, but--when you sang that song about--her promise true, why--I thought how you'd been good to me, and--trusted me, and--I sneaked in here and left the money. The drawer was open, and I snapped it shut. Then, when I made my getaway he pinched me." She turned to Grimes.

The detective lowered his head as if he was studying the girl through his eyebrows.

"You told me a different story just now?" he said.

"Sure I did. I lied. You know I lied. You don't think I'm stuck on gettin' sent away for ten years, do ye? But if it's got to be her or me, well, I won't have her sent away when all she's done is to treat me right and try to save me. You can take that from Hester Storm."

"This is a rare and beautiful instance of gratitude and devotion," commented Bunchester.

"That's all right, Bish; but I want to know more about this." Hiram turned to Hester, who was standing with bowed head and clasped hands. "Well, fer a girl who talks about stealin'--I guess some o' the honest folks could take lessons from you. Say, I didn't quite get that about how you planned to steal half o' this money? Where did the half come in? Why didn't ye plan to steal all of it?"

Then, little by little, with questions from Grimes and more questions from Hiram the Storm girl told her story, sometimes in broken words, as her feelings overpowered her, but in the main simply and bravely and truthfully, as one who is strengthened by some higher power. She went back to her childhood and spoke of her sister Rosalie. She told of her wanderings and waywardness, then of her visit to Ippingford and her meeting with Horatio Merle. Then, finally, of her efforts to return the money and of the persecution she had suffered at the hands of Anton. She kept nothing back, and she made no excuse for herself. She had sinned and it was right that she should suffer.

As Hester finished her confession every heart went out to her in genuine sympathy, and Grimes was seen to wipe his eyes.

"I want to say," he remarked, "that I've seen some strange cases in my time, but when it comes to a woman trying to steal money over again that she's stolen once so as to give it back--why, that's a new one on me."

"Ye can't ever tell what a woman's goin' to do," nodded Baxter.

"Anyway, I owe you an apology, Miss Thompson," the detective went on, and there was a little catch in his voice as he met Betty's grave, beautiful eyes. "Things certainly did look black against you, but--all I can say is, I'm sorry, Miss, I'm sorry."

"It's all right, old man," said Bob.

Whereupon the Bishop of Bunchester, clearing his throat ponderously, addressed these comforting words to Hester Storm: "My dear young friend, I am inexpressively touched by this story of your struggles and temptations and your splendid moral victory. It is a most meritorious case and one that the Society of Progressive Mothers will take up with enthusiasm. As for the outcome of this affair, speaking for the Progressive Mothers' Society and for myself, as bishop of this diocese, I can assure you that there will be no unpleasant consequences, so far as you are concerned. The money has been returned. You have truly repented of your sin and you have given an illustration of spiritual regeneration that will long be treasured in the annals of the Progressive Mothers' Society.

"And now, my dear Miss Thompson, how shall I express my great joy----" The bishop turned to Betty, and was about to launch forth into another sounding period when Hiram Baxter interrupted him.

"Excuse me, Bish, fer breakin' in on yer speech, but--I've had a bad day in town, and--if you don't mind takin' the detective into the next room and finishin' up the details of this purse business with him, why----"

Baxter leaned back in his chair with signs of physical distress--"ye see, I'm just about all in."

"Why, certainly, my dear friend. Let us come in here." And, motioning to Grimes and Hester, he led the way into the conservatory and carefully closed the door behind him.

"Father! Is anything wrong?" asked Bob in concern.

"Guardy, you're ill?"

With anxious faces the young lovers stood beside the old man, who smiled at them wearily.

"Children, I've got bad news fer ye, awful bad news for ye," he said. "I've made the best fight I could, but that Henderson bunch, they've done me up. Independent Copper broke twenty points to-day in the New York market, and--I was long of the stock. My man cabled me the tip to sell, but I never got it. I never got it. That cable was held up." He bent forward, resting his big grizzled head on his hands in an attitude of utter despair. "It's all off, children. It's all off."

Betty's heart was pounding violently as she listened. Things had happened so rapidly in the last few hours that she had scarcely thought of Lionel and his wild sprint for the cable office. Had he failed to get there in time? Had he made some mistake? What could have happened to Lionel?

"Excuse me a moment," she said, and hurrying toward the conservatory, she threw open the door and looked about her.

One glance showed that something had happened, for her eyes fell on a murmuring group gathered about Anton and the detective. And there in the group, calmly smoking a cigarette, was Lionel Fitz-Brown.

"Lionel!" Betty called, addressing him by his Christian name for the first time in her life. "Please come here--quick." And then, when he stood before her, very indignantly: "The idea of your not coming to tell me!"

"Tell you about what?" he asked blankly.

"About the cable. Did you--were you in time?"

Fitz-Brown adjusted his monocle with great care, then, gradually, a smile spread over his face. "Oh, I say! The cable! You see, I got so beastly wet in the storm, Miss Thompson, that I--well, the fact is, I had on thin flannel trousers and they jolly well shrunk up to my knees and--haw, haw, haw!" He exploded into uproarious merriment.

"Oh, Mr. Fitz-Brown," she wrung her hands beseechingly, "please tell me if you got the cable off by twelve?"

Lionel laid a reflective forefinger along his nose. "By twelve? No. No, I didn't."

"You didn't?" Betty's heart sank.

"I go it off five minutes before twelve. Haw, haw, haw!" He fairly doubled up in his enjoyment of this witticism.

Like a flash, Betty darted back to Hiram, thrilling with this good news. And at the same moment Grimes entered, holding a cablegram in his hand.

"Beg your pardon, sir," he said respectfully to Baxter, "I've just arrested your chauffeur, Anton Busch. He's a crook, Slippery Jake, sneak thief and confidence man, wanted by the police in half dozen cities. He's been working some deviltry here, sir. I've just found this cablegram on him. It's addressed to you."

"Thank you," said Hiram with a look of inexpressible sadness in his eyes. "It's come too late."

"I'm sorry, sir. I--I'll wait outside," and Grimes withdrew, his hard face softened by a look of deep pity for the shattered old warrior.

Baxter sat still, looking at the yellow envelope. "Too late!" he muttered. "Oh, if I'd only got this cablegram in time!"

"Guardy, I want to tell you something," Betty began, but Hiram paid no attention.

"Nothing matters now," he went on bitterly. "I mustn't say that. I'm happy about you two. Betty! Bob!" He joined their hands and held them strongly. "It's what I've always dreamed of, but--I wanted to leave ye well fixed and now----" The tears were coursing down his grizzled cheeks. "We're ruined--ruined."

"No, no! We're not ruined. You mustn't say that, Guardy." The girl dared not promise anything, for she did not know the result of her effort, but she pointed hopefully to the unopened cablegram. "Why don't you open this? Why don't you read it?"

He shook his head despairingly. "I know what it is. It's the notice that I've been sold out and--everything's gone. God! If I'd only known! If I could only have given the order to sell--even a few thousand shares."

With a listless movement Hiram ripped open the cable envelope and drew out the yellow sheet. Betty thought her heart would stop beating as she watched his face. Slowly the look of amazement came. He rubbed his eyes and read the message again. Then he sprang to his feet with a great cry.

"What! It ain't possible! Listen to this!" In his excitement, Hiram almost shouted the words written there before him. "'Congratulate you on your splendid nerve. Executed order at once. Sold fifty thousand shares at top of market and closed out with twenty points profit. Gramercy.' You hear that, Bob? Read it! Am I crazy or---- No, no! There's something wrong. I didn't show any splendid nerve. I didn't cable any order to sell fifty thousand shares. There's some mistake."

"There's no mistake," cried Betty. "I cabled the order to sell."

"You?" stared Bob.

"You?" gasped Hiram. "You cabled the order to sell fifty thousand shares of Independent Copper stock for my account? Fifty thousand shares?"

It was several moments before Betty could speak, and then, laughing and crying hysterically, she told what she and Lionel had done.

"I should say it was splendid nerve," said Bob. And folding his big, strong arms around her, "Betty, you darling!" he whispered.

She lay there happy in his arms and, looking up into his eyes with all the fondness of her soul, answered shyly and sweetly, "Bob, my love."

And Hiram Baxter, wiping away his tears of joy, muttered to himself (since no one else was paying any attention), "Holy cats! Is there anything a woman won't do?"

THE END