the check that was torn from that stub?"
"Of course I have. Mr. Arnold gave it to me."
"When?"
"I must ask what right you gentlemen have to cross-question me. Am I on trial?"
"You are not," said Gale coldly; "but if you persist in showing such strong disinclination to answer questions bearing directly on the business in hand, I am forced to think you ought to be on trial. I ask you in a friendly manner to explain the peculiar circumstance of your receiving a large check from Justin Arnold to-day, when nobody else knows where the man is."
Chapin looked both injured and sullen. "The check is of a private and personal nature," he said, at last "Mr. Arnold gave it to me last night, here in this office. As it was after midnight when he drew the check, of course he dated it to-day. As I have already declared, I left Mr. Arnold here last night at about half-past twelve. That's what I meant by saying I hadn't exactly seen him to-day. Of course, last night after midnight was literally to-day, and it was before Mr. Arnold's mysterious disappearance."
Emory Gale looked perturbed and a little suspicious. Campbell Crosby looked frankly amazed. It might all be exactly as Chapin had said, and Justin Arnold might have had ample reasons for presenting his secretary with a sum of money probably equal to his year's salary; but it was a peculiar coincidence that the man should disappear immediately afterward. If Chapin had treated it lightly, and explained why he received so large a sum at one time, and whether or not it was by way of salary, the lawyers would have thought little of it. But when the secretary was so evidently rattled, so unwilling to explain matters, and so clearly annoyed at being questioned, it was but natural for the two lawyers to feel some curiosity concerning the occurrence.
However, Emory Gale, who was perhaps more far-sighted than his junior partner, said calmly, "You're right, Mr. Chapin; it isn't exactly in our province to question you. Whatever conclusions we may draw from the examination of the papers are of course our own affairs, as your relations with your employer are yours."
Though spoken quietly, Mr. Gale's words seemed to have a deeper meaning than was apparent on the surface, and the pallor that overspread Ernest Chapin's face proved that he realized this. Leaving the agitated secretary with the check-book in his hand, and the safe open beside him, Mr. Gale and Mr. Crosby walked away.
"Deucedly queer development!" said Crosby; and Gale returned, "It's more than that. To my mind, it implicates Chapin pretty deeply in the matter. But it isn't up to us to probe the case. When the detective comes to-morrow, he can do that. Any way, Chapin can't run away as long as this place is guarded like a fortress. I wonder if they'll turn on their precious burglar-alarm to-night."
"Of course they will. Old Driggs always did it when Justin was away, so, naturally, he'll attend to it."
It was early the next morning that Dorothy came downstairs. That is, it was early for her to make an appearance, though the other members of the household had already assembled. But the girl was too anxious to learn if there were any news to remain in her room as usual.
Absolutely nothing had been discovered concerning Arnold, and breakfast was eaten in an atmosphere of almost gloomy silence. Now and then some one would endeavor to make a cheerful remark, but it was not followed up in the same spirit.
After breakfast, Dorothy strolled out to the terrace, where she was immediately joined by Crosby and Chapin. It was not a congenial trio, but Dorothy was accustomed to managing men who were at odds with each other, and she found no difficulty in keeping them both in her company.
"Just think," she said, "of not knowing anything about where Justin may be! Why, he might be drowned, or anything!"
"I think we ought to have the pools dragged," said Ernest Chapin, and as he spoke directly to Dorothy, he evaded Crosby's searching glance.
"I think so, too," agreed the girl; "for I think we ought to do everything that could possibly be of any use. But I can't seem to imagine Justin walking out in the middle of the night, and falling into one of his own pools."
"They're very deep," said Crosby.
"I know they are; that black one under the willows makes me shiver to look at it; and that dark one down in that deepest ravine is positively uncanny!"
Leila and Gale strolled past the group, saying they were going around the grounds to hunt for clues.
Crosby looked after them, a little amusedly. "They won't see any clues, if they stumble over them!" he said. "They don't know there's anything in this world but each other."
"That's so," said Dorothy; "aren't they desperately in love? It must be beautiful to be in love like that!"
It was almost unthinkingly that Dorothy spoke thus out of the fulness of her heart. Though she did love Chapin, she had no intention of confessing it or even letting it be suspected; for Ernest Chapin was a poor man, and Dorothy Duncan was a girl who fully intended to marry money.
But the two men who listened to this speech were both deeply in love with her, and each determined then and there that she should yet be desperately in love with him. How this desirable state of things was to be brought about, neither knew, but each was none the less positive in his intention.
A little later, Miss Wadsworth claimed Crosby's attention, and Ernest Chapin was left alone with Dorothy.
"Listen to me," he said, without preamble. "That detective is coming at ten o'clock, and I want to remind you, once more, to say nothing about Arnold's seeing us on the balcony together. The detective will question you, but no good can possibly come of your telling of that scene, and it might result in harm."
"Well, I won't; but I want you to tell me what Justin said to you after I left you."
"Nothing of any importance—as I told you before."
"Was he angry?"
"Yes, he was." And then, as if on a sudden impulse, Chapin whispered earnestly to the girl, "Dorothy, darling, if you'll only admit you love me—I know you do—I'll tell you everything about it. What Arnold said, and all that happened. And you can confide in me, too."
Dorothy's eyes opened wide. "Ernest, you don't mean that you know anything about Justin's going away!"
"I'll tell you nothing," he returned doggedly, "until you tell me what I ask. Tell me, dear." Dorothy looked at him with a gentle tenderness. "Ernest," she said softly, "this isn't the time or place for such a question."
"Yes, it is, darling. There couldn't be a more beautiful place than this terrace, with the bright sunshine and blue sky above, and no one near to overhear us. Answer me, Dorothy. Crown my happiness of loving you, by your dear confession that you love me."
Dorothy was strongly tempted to tell this man that she did love him. She longed to see his eyes light up with the happiness that she knew such an admission would bring. Then her glance roved out over the wide domain spread out before her: the beautiful terrace on which they stood, and the great mansion behind them. Could she give up all this for her love of Ernest Chapin? It didn't seem to her that she could. Then, at the intrusion of a sudden thought, she ignored her lover's pleading, and said, "As Justin's secretary, Mr. Chapin, of course you know all about his business matters. If he should—if he should never come back, who would own White Birches?"
"I am not quite sure. If Mr. Arnold made no will, his whole estate will go to Campbell Crosby; but if he made a will—and I'm quite sure
