this frame of mind Hatch started for the suburban place of the Greytons. He found the house without difficulty. Morgan Greyton was an aged gentleman of wealth and exclusive ideas – and wasn't in. Hatch handed a card bearing only his name, to a maid, and after a few minutes Mrs. Greyton appeared. She was a motherly, sweet-faced old lady of seventy, with that grave, exquisite courtesy which makes mere man feel ashamed of himself. Hatch had that feeling when he looked at her and thought of what he was going to ask.
"I came up direct from Police Headquarters," he explained diplomatically, "to learn any details you may be able to give us as to the disappearance of Miss Meredith."
"Oh, yes," replied Mrs. Greyton. "My husband said he was going to ask the police to look into the matter. It is most mysterious – most mysterious! We can't imagine where Dollie is, unless she has eloped. Do you know that idea keeps coming to me and won't go away?"
She spoke as if it were a naughty child.
"If you'll tell me something about Miss Meredith – who she is and all that?" Hatch suggested.
"Oh, yes, to be sure," exclaimed Mrs. Greyton. "Dollie is a distant cousin of my husband's sister's husband," she explained precisely. "She lives in Baltimore, but is visiting us. She has been here for several weeks. She's a dear, sweet girl, but I'm afraid – afraid she has eloped."
The aged voice quivered a little, and Hatch was more ashamed of himself than ever.
"Some time ago she met a man named Herbert – Richard Herbert, I think, and – "
"Dick Herbert?" the reporter exclaimed suddenly.
"Do you know the young gentleman?" inquired the old lady eagerly.
"Yes, it just happens that we were classmates in Harvard," said the reporter.
"And is he a nice young man?"
"A good, clean-cut, straightforward, decent man," replied Hatch. He could speak with a certain enthusiasm about Dick Herbert. "Go on, please," he urged.
"Well, for some reason I don't know, Dollie's father objects to Mr. Herbert's attentions to her – as a matter of fact, Mr. Meredith has absolutely prohibited them – but she's a young, headstrong girl, and I fear that, although she had outwardly yielded to her father's wishes, she had clandestinely kept up a correspondence with Mr. Herbert. Last Thursday evening she went out unattended and since then we have not heard from her – not a word. We can only surmise – my husband and I – that they have eloped. I know her father and mother will be heart-broken, but I have always noticed that if a girl sets her heart on a man, she will get him. And perhaps it's just as well that she has eloped now since you assure me he is a nice young man."
Hatch was choking back a question that rose in his throat. He hated to ask it, because he felt this dear, garrulous old woman would have hated him for it, if she could have known its purpose. But at last it came.
"Do you happen to know," he asked, "if Miss Meredith attended the Randolph ball at Seven Oaks on Thursday evening?"
"I dare say she received an invitation," was the reply. "She receives many invitations, but I don't think she went there. It was a costume affair, I suppose?"
The reporter nodded.
"Well, I hardly believe she went there then," Mrs. Greyton replied. "She has had no costume of any sort made. No, I am positive she has eloped with Mr. Herbert, but I should like to hear from her to satisfy myself and explain to her parents. We did not permit Mr. Herbert to come here, and it will be very hard to explain."
Hatch heard the slight rustle of a skirt in the hall and glanced toward the door. No one appeared, and he turned back to Mrs. Greyton.
"I don't suppose it possible that Miss Meredith has returned to Baltimore?" he asked.
"Oh, no!" was the positive reply. "Her father there telegraphed to her to-day – I opened it – saying he would be here, probably to-night, and I – I haven't the heart to tell him the truth when he arrives. Somehow, I have been hoping that we would hear and – and – "
Then Hatch took his shame in his hand and excused himself. The maid attended him to the door.
"How much is it worth to you to know if Miss Meredith went to the masked ball?" asked the maid cautiously.
"Eavesdropping, eh?" asked Hatch in disgust.
The maid shrugged her shoulders.
"How much is it worth?" she repeated.
Hatch extended his hand. She took a ten-dollar bill which lay there and secreted it in some remote recess of her being.
"Miss Meredith did go to the ball," she said. "She went there to meet Mr. Herbert. They had arranged to elope from there and she had made all her plans. I was in her confidence and assisted her."
"What did she wear?" asked Hatch eagerly.
"Her costume was that of a Western Girl," the maid responded. "She wore a sombrero, and carried a Bowie knife and revolver."
Hatch nearly swallowed his palate.
CHAPTER V
Hatch started back to the city with his brain full of seven-column heads. He thoughtfully lighted a cigar just before he stepped on the car.
"No smoking," said the conductor.
The reporter stared at him with dull eyes and then went in and sat down with the cigar in his mouth.
"No smoking, I told you," bawled the conductor.
"Certainly not," exclaimed Hatch indignantly. He turned and glared at the only other occupant of the car, a little girl. She wasn't smoking. Then he looked at the conductor and awoke suddenly.
"Miss Meredith is the girl," Hatch was thinking. "Mallory doesn't even dream it and never will. He won't send a man out there to do what I did. The Greytons are anxious to keep it quiet, and they won't say anything to anybody else until they know what really happened. I've got it bottled up, and don't know how to pull the cork. Now, the question is: What possible connection can there be between Dorothy Meredith and the Burglar? Was Dick Herbert the Burglar? Why, of course not! Then – what?"
Pondering all these things deeply, Hatch left the car and ran up to see Dick Herbert. He was too self-absorbed to notice that the blinds of the house were drawn. He rang, and after a long time a man-servant answered the bell.
"Mr. Herbert here?" Hatch asked.
"Yes, sir, he's here," replied the servant, "but I don't know if he can see you. He is not very well, sir."
"Not very well?" Hatch repeated.
"No, it's not that he's sick, sir. He was hurt and – "
"Who is it, Blair?" came Herbert's voice from the top of the stair.
"Mr. Hatch, sir."
"Come up, Hatch!" Dick called cordially. "Glad to see you. I'm so lonesome here I don't know what to do with myself."
The reporter ran up the steps and into Dick's room.
"Not that one," Dick smiled as Hatch reached for his right hand. "It's out of business. Try this one
