Carmel crumpled the paper and threw it in the waste basket. Then she picked up her pen and began to write--the story of the disappearance of Sheriff Churchill. Without doubt she broke the newspaper rule that editorial matter should not be contained in a news story, but her anger and determination are offered as some excuse for this. She ended the story with a paragraph which said: “The editor has been warned that she will be sent to join Sheriff Churchill if she meddles with his disappearance. The _Free Press_ desires to give notice now that it will meddle until the whole truth is discovered and the criminals brought to justice. If murder has been done, the murderers must be punished.” CHAPTER IV When Carmel entered the office next morning she found Prof. Evan Bartholomew Pell occupying her chair. On his face was an expression of displeasure. He forgot to arise as she stepped through the gate, but he did point a lead pencil at her accusingly. “You have made me appear ridiculous,” he said, and compressed his lips with pedagogical severity. “In my letter, which you published in this paper, you misspelled the words ‘nefarious’ and ‘nepotist.’ What excuse have you to offer?” Carmel stared at the young man, nonplused for an instant, and then a wave of pity spread over her. It was pity for a man who would not admit the existence of a forest because he was able to see only the individual trees. She wondered what life offered to Evan Pell; what rewards it held out to him; what promises it made. He was vain, that was clear; he was not so much selfish as egotistical, and that must have been very painful. He was, she fancied, the sort of man to whom correct spelling was of greater importance than correct principle--not because of any tendency toward lack of principle, but because pedantry formed a shell about him, inside which he lived the life of a turtle. She smiled as she pictured him as a spectacled turtle of the snapping variety, and it was a long time before that mental caricature was erased from her mind. Of one thing she was certain; it would not do to coddle him. Therefore she replied, coolly: “Perhaps, if you would use ordinary words which ordinary people can understand, you would run less risk of misspelling--and people would know what you are trying to talk about.” “I used the words which exactly expressed my meaning.” “You are sitting in my chair,” said Carmel. Evan Bartholomew flushed and bit his lips. “I--my mind was occupied----” he said. “With yourself,” said Carmel. “Have you come to work?” “That was my intention.” “Very well. Please clear off that table and find a chair.... You may smoke!” “I do not use tobacco.” She shrugged her shoulders, and again he flushed as if he had been detected in something mildly shameful. “I am wondering,” she said, “how you can be of use.” “I can at least see to it that simple words are correctly spelled in this paper,” he said.