"Thank you for the implied compliment." "Don't be sarcastic. This isn't the time for it. Please help me, Mr. Roberts." It would have been a far less impressionable man than the detective who could have refused the pleading glance of those pansy-blue eyes. "How can I help you, Miss Vernon?" "This way. Tell me of some detective, some really great one, who can unravel this tangle. I didn't kill Mr. Stannard. Barry didn't, either. But he says he did, to save me. Now, I want some one who can find the real criminal and so clear both Barry and myself." "And you expect me to recommend somebody?" "Oh, I do, Mr. Roberts, I do. I know you're big enough and honest enough to admit that you are at the end of your rope, and if you know of any one--I don't care how much he costs, I must have him--I _must_! Tell me, won't you?" "Yes, I'll tell you, because I can't refuse you, but also because I know he will only verify our conclusions. You must know, Miss Vernon, we've had our eye on young Stannard all the time." "Oh, I thought you were sure the criminal must be Mrs. Stannard or myself." "We did think that at first--you see, we have to think what the evidence shows." "Well, never mind that now. Who is this man you have in mind?" "Alan Ford. He's not one of the story-book wizards, but he's a big light in the detective field, and he can find out if any one can." "Where is he?" Bobsy gave her the New York address of the detective, and Natalie rose to go. Then, acting on a sudden impulse, "Come with me," she said. "To New York?" cried the amazed Bobsy. "Yes. It's only a couple of hours' run, and I don't want to go alone." "Why, I'm glad to go, if I can arrange it." "Do arrange it. I want you so much." Now, when a little flower-faced girl looks pleadingly out of heavenly colored eyes, and her red mouth quivers with fear of being refused, few men have the power to say no. Anyway, Bobsy hadn't, and he managed to "arrange" it, and in a few moments they were on their way. "I thought you'd want to see Stannard," he said. "No, I'd rather not, until I see if I can get the great Mr. Ford." The little car ate up the miles, and soon they were in the crowded streets of the city. Alan Ford was in his office, and received them with his characteristic quiet dignity. The tall, big man looked taller than ever as he stood beside the petite model, his grey eyes looking down into her eager blue ones. "What can I do for you?" he asked, kindly, and smiled at her because he couldn't help it. The winsome face made everybody smile from sheer gladness of looking at it. "Can you take a case, Mr. Ford? An important murder case?" "The Stannard case?" "Yes." "I'd like to say yes, but I am just starting on a Western trip, and I shall be gone at least a month."