“At that, he’s more to you than he’s shown himself to me,” Pape interposed with point. Harford pulled up his mount’s head with something the decisive fling of his own. “I admit that I give orders better than take them. Come, Jane. Come, Irene. Maybe I can get you out of this mess yet without unpleasant consequences.” “And maybe, Jane, the consequences ain’t going to be so plumb unpleasant,” Pape contested her attention with something the seriousness he had shown at the foot of the Sturgis’ steps. “In a certain some one else’s little matter of unfinished business that’s demanding my time and attention right now, I have pressing need of one assistant. Are you—do you feel—well, willing?” “But, Why Not, why not _me_?” Irene prevented immediate reply from her cousin; spurred her mount close beside the obviously fastidious Polkadot; at last dropped her battered-looking bunch of roses to clasp the Westerner’s arm. “You _know_ that I—And I _know_ that you—Don’t you, dar-rling—or do you? I am sure that I’m not _ashamed_ of—of—_You_ know. That is, I ain’t if you aren’t. Of course Jane is calmer than I, but who wants to be calm nowadays? _I’m_ the one that’s willing and then some to tag along with you into difficulty and danger and——” Harford, heated of face and manner, interrupted. “No one’s going to tag with him into any more difficulty or danger. You girls are going to keep your agreement, aren’t you? You’re both coming peacefully along with me, now that I’ve let you wait long enough to see that this person, rightly entitled ‘The Impossible,’ is safe.” “Let us wait—_you_ let us?” Irene flared. “A dozen of you couldn’t have forced me to desert him, Millsy Harford—not whilst I had _my_ health and strength!” Despite her ardor, Pape managed to free his arm of her hold. With his eyes he re-asked the question put to Jane. He could see that she was confused, annoyed, justifiably suspicious of the youngster vamp’s proprietorship. “Don’t you worry about any unfinished business of Miss Lauderdale,” Harford added with augmented insolence. “I think she will concede that I am more competent and quite as willing as you to attend any and all such. On my advice she has given up her search for a mythical needle mythically buried in this park haystack. Haven’t you, Jane? _Haven’t_ you, dear?” Pape, while listening to the man, looked to the woman; gained her gaze, saw her lips form to an unvoiced “No.” Fresh love for her and fresh hate for him—fresh suspicion and the courage thereof possessed him. “Meantime, I suppose, your hirelings are tumbling up this park haystack according to the directions of that cryptogram you took from Mrs. Sturgis’ wall-safe?” “You damned blighter, you dare accuse me of theft?”