CHAPTER XVII.
REPORTING TO HEADQUARTERS.
"McCausland!"
Emily bit off the exclamation just a moment too late. This, then, was the interesting convict who had tried to worm himself into Robert's confidence. This was Shagarach's vaunted opponent, the evil genius arrayed against the good, in mortal combat for her sweetheart's life. With Sire worrying his heels, Bertha holding her side in unchecked laughter, and Emily eying him with an expression of amazement gradually turning to scorn, the detective looked for a moment as if he would have resigned his whole reputation to be elsewhere. But suddenly he righted himself and led the horse around to the road, snatched Griggs' pitchfork and was tossing the spilled hay back into place before the fuming farmer realized what he was about.
"This is Miss Barlow," said Bertha. "But I suppose you don't need an introduction."
"We were fellow-passengers on the train coming down."
"Don't tell me, after that, we servants are the only keyhole listeners."
"Mr. McCausland makes eavesdropping a science," added Emily, who was not at all disposed to spare him.
"There!"