impatiently.

"Of course," agreed the smiling clerk, and sauntered away.

Burton sat still and considered. His personal irritation was swallowed up in this more serious complication. How did this curious and unexpected situation affect the commission with which he was charged? He thought of Rachel Overman, fastidious, critical, ultra refined, and in spite of his preoccupation he smiled to himself. The idea of an alliance between her house and that of a man who was popularly supposed to indulge on occasion in highway robbery struck him as incongruous enough to be called humorous. At any rate, he now had a reasonable excuse for going no further with his "fool errand." The role of Lancelot, wooing as a proxy for the absent prince, had by no means pleased him, and it was with a guilty sense of relief at the idea of dropping it right here that he called for a time-table.

He figured out his railway connections, and went to the office to give his orders. As he passed the open window his attention was caught by two men who had met on the sidewalk outside. One of them was talking excitedly and flourishing a paper which looked much like the typewritten sheet the clerk had shown him. It was the man with whom Burton had clashed at the station.

"Who is that man,--the smaller one?" he asked.

The clerk glanced out and smiled.

"That's the man I was telling you about,--Orton Selby."

"So that's the man who is bringing this charge against Dr. Underwood! Who's the other?"

"Mr. Hadley. A banker and one of our prominent citizens."

Burton crumpled up his time-table and tossed it into the waste-basket quite as though he had had no intention of taking the next train out of town.

"Will you direct me to Dr. Underwood's house now?" he said.

 

 

 

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