74

Mr. Kentworthy remained silent. It was clear he did not accept the other man’s view of the story.

Suddenly the doctor pressed the electric bell on his table, twice, sharply: “I’m going to send for my niece,” he exclaimed.

Mr. Kentworthy started up.

“That’s not fair,” he cried. “That’s not playing the game!”

“Bide a wee, man. I’m not going to do anything unfair. I simply want you to see the child. I’ll give her a message for my wife.”

A moment later the door opened and Jean Bower ran in.

“Yes, Uncle Jock? What——” and then she stopped short. “I beg your pardon. I did not know you had any one here.”

“Mr. Kentworthy—my niece.”

The two shook hands, and as he looked keenly into her fresh guileless face and noted, as only a trained eye would have done, the dozen little details which go to differentiate one type of modern girl from the other, James Kentworthy told himself that Dr. Maclean had shown a sure instinct in thus obliging him to see Harry Garlett’s betrothed.

The experienced police inspector was not a susceptible man, and he was one whose work habitually caused him to see the ugliest side of feminine human nature. Yet he would have staked a great deal on the probability that the girl now before him was as pure and essentially simple-hearted as had been the mother whose memory he cherished. He made up his mind that Harry Garlett’s mysterious companion had almost certainly not been this young woman.

“I want you to tell your aunt, my dear, that I have unexpectedly got to go to town to-night.”

“Oh, Uncle Jock!”

Jean looked very troubled and dismayed. “I’d better ’phone to Harry at once, hadn’t I?”

“Yes, do, my dear. But first tell your aunt. She’d better send a note to the vicar—that is if you want me to be present at your wedding.”

75She reddened deeply. How very strange and odd of Uncle Jock to speak of to-morrow’s secret ceremony before a stranger.

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