Eric had expected to see him scouting around the Leslie mansion, but if the artist was there he had kept his person well concealed. Not yet had Eric doubted the motives that brought the other here. Everything seemed to fit as snugly as though it had been made for it—when a carpenter makes a neat job he dove-tails the corners, and Darrell looked upon the many little things that connected so wonderfully, as the finishing touches of the joiner. If a thunder cloud burst upon him it would certainly take him unawares, while the cool rain might be very acceptable. He began to count the minutes. Seldom had this man ever felt any such thing as nervousness in his life, but just now he certainly experienced a spell of it. The minutes seemed hours. People walked along the street—he scrutinized every one as though he expected to see a ghost appear. In reality he was looking for Prescott. It worried him to know that the man was somewhere around and yet out of sight, though he did not doubt but what he would be on hand when needed. CHAPTER XXI THE COTTAGE BEYOND THE HARLEM Sometimes things do not run quite as smoothly as we hope for. The best laid plans of mice and men often go wrong—there’s many a slip ‘twixt the cup and the lip. So it happened on the present occasion. It was all owing to a certain clock which had taken a notion to get ahead of its fellows and was some ten minutes fast. A lamp set Chicago on fire. So this unlucky clock upset the beautiful plans of the wily detective, as he believed, and came near leaving him in the lurch. By chance he was down near the corner when suddenly he saw a female hurrying that way. A long cloak concealed her figure, but a handsome dress of white silk peeped below—a heavy veil had been snatched up to hide her face and serve in lieu of a hat at the same time. Where she came from he hardly knew, but a terrible fear almost palsied him. It was Lillian! She had come ahead of time—Joe would not be ready, and as a result confusion must ensue. Luckily the detective was a man able to grasp an emergency. He never yet had seen the time when he was so taken by surprise that his mind refused to do its work. Just then there was need of quick thought, and action must follow on its heels. Hardly had the woman paused upon the corner than a dark figure sprang out of the shadows near by. “Paul!” she whispered. “Good heavens! you are ten minutes ahead of time, darling. I would have met you at the place appointed had—” the rush of a train drowned what else he said. Then the detective saw him assist the now shrinking figure toward the carriage. “He will be furious,” he heard her say, as she looked apprehensively around, as though anticipating the appearance of an enraged husband on the scene. If these were her sensations now, what of the future—remorse must soon kill her.