1

From the university clock, up in the north end of Sunbury village, twelve slow strokes boomed out.

Henry Calverly, settled comfortably in the hammock on Mrs Arthur V. Henderson's front porch, behind the honeysuckle vine, listened dreamily.

Beside him in the hammock was Corinne Doag.

At the corner, two houses away, a sizzing, flaring, sputtering arc lamp gave out the only sound and the only light in the neighbourhood. Lower Chestnut Avenue was sound asleep.

The storage battery in the modern automobile will automatically cut itself off from the generator when fully charged. Henry's emotional, nature was of similar construction. Corinne had overcharged him, and automatically he cut her off.

The outer result of this action and reaction was a rather bewildering quarrel.

Early in the present evening, shortly after Humphrey Weaver and Mrs Henderson left the porch for a little ramble to the lake—'Back in a few minutes,' Mildred had remarked—the quarrel had been made up. Neither could have told how. Each felt relieved to be comfortably back on a hammock footing.

Henry, indeed, was more than relieved. He was quietly exultant. The thrill of conquest was upon him. It was as if she were an enemy whom he had defeated and captured. He was experiencing none of the sensations that he supposed were symptoms of what is called love. Yet what he was experiencing was pleasurable. He could even lie back here and think coolly about it, revel in it.

Corinne's head stirred.

'That was midnight,' she murmured.

'What of it?'

'I suppose I ought to be thinking about going in.'

'I don't see that your chaperon's in such a rush.'

'I know. They've been hours. They might have walked around to the rooms.'

Henry was a little shocked at the thought.

'Oh, no,' he remarked. 'They'd hardly have gone there—without us.'

'Mildred would if she wanted to. It has seemed to me lately...'

'What?'

'I don't know—but once or twice—as if she might be getting a little too fond of Humphrey.'

'Oh'—there was concern in Henry's voice—'do you think so?'

'I wonder if you know just how fascinating that man is, Henry.'

'He's never been with girls—not around here. You've no idea—he just lives with his books, and in his shop.'

'Perhaps that's why,' said she. 'Partly. Mildred ought to be careful.'

Henry, soberly considering this new light on his friend, looked off toward the corner.

He sat up abruptly.

'Henry' For goodness' sake! Ouch—my hair!'

'Ssh! Look—that man coming across! Wait. There now—with a suit-case!'

'Oh, Henry, you scared me! Don't be silly. He's way out in... Henry! How awful! It is!'

'What'll we do?'

'I don't know. Get up. Sit over there,' She was working at her hair; she smoothed her 'waist,' and pulled out the puff sleeves.

The man came rapidly nearer. His straw hat was tipped back. They could see the light of a cigar. A mental note of Henry's was that Arthur V. Henderson had been a football player at the state university. And a boxer. Even out of condition he was a strong man.

'Quick—think of something to tell him! It'll have to be a lie. Henry—think!'

Then, as he stood motionless, helpless, she got up, thrust his hat and bamboo stick into his hands, and led him on tiptoe around the corner of the house.

'We've got to do something. Henry, for goodness' sake—'

'We've got to find her, I think.'

'I know it. But——'

'If she came in with Hump, and he—you know, this time' of night—why, something awful might happen. There might be murder. Mr Henderson——'

'Don't talk such stuff! Keep your head. Well—he's coming! Here!'

She gripped his hand, dragged him down the side steps, and ran lightly with him out past the woodshed to the alley. They walked to the side street and, keeping in the shadows, out to the Chestnut Avenue corner. From this spot they commanded the house.

Mr Henderson had switched on lights in front hall, dining-room, and kitchen. The parlour was still dark. Next he had gone upstairs, for there were lights in the upper windows. After a brief time he appeared in the front doorway. He lighted a fresh cigar, then opened the screen door and came out on the porch. He stood there, looking up and down the street. Then he seated himself on the top step, elbows on knees, like a man thinking.

'Henry!'

'Yes.'

'Listen! You go over to the rooms and see.'

'But they might be down at the lake.'

'Not all this time. Mildred doesn't like sitting on beaches. If you find them, bring her back. We'll go in together, she and I. We'll patch up a story. It's all right. Just keep your head.'

'What'll you do?'

'Wait here.'

'I don't like to leave you.'

'You'll see me again.'

'I know, but——'

'Well... Now hurry!'