"Keep cool," advised Sam. "And keep off!" "You’ve got the girl!" Buller roared. "We know you have, from them as saw you coming over here, three in the car. Where is she?" "Find her," said Sam. Buller turned to Harding. "_You_ handle him, Joe. I’ll tackle the woman." Martha stood at the baggage-room door, as Buller came pounding down the platform. "Hand over that girl!" He spoke with sinister calmness. "Certaintly," said Martha. "That’s just what I’m waitin’ to do." The engine whistled. Buller started toward Martha, getting in the way of the baggage-man, who was pushing a loaded hand-truck before him. His elbow sent Buller reeling. In that instant, through a maze, Buller saw Martha lift what had looked like a piece of burlap-covered baggage from the truck, and toss it, with sure aim, to the brakeman on the platform of the slow-moving car. The brakeman caught it deftly, and set it on its feet. The train slid past. "Ellen!" Buller cried. Then, turning on Martha, "You—devil!" Mrs. Slawson bowed civilly. "Same to you, sir." "I’ll—I’ll do you up yet. You’re not done with me, not by a long shot." "I haven’t a doubt o’ it. I’m ready for you, any time. Likewise _Mister_ Slawson. Only, I advise you, take it out on me. My husband might hurt you too much, if he got goin’." As they were driving home through the waning light, Sam told Martha he faintly remembered hearing Ellen’s knock on the door—"only he was too tired to get up." "You were smart to hear it through your own snores," she returned pleasantly. "But when we get home, you must turn in, an’ take a real sleep. I’ll wake you when Buller comes." *CHAPTER X* Dr. Ballard had been absent a fortnight or more, and July was drawing to its close, when one afternoon Katherine heard the sound she had been longing for all these days, the familiar musical notes of his motor-horn. Looking ahead expectantly, he spied her at once, and gave salute, as the car swept up to the porch, a silent military salute. Alighting, he passed directly upstairs to Madam Crewe’s sitting-room. Katherine followed after, drawn as if by the sense of something pending, something too interesting to miss. Madam Crewe glanced around as the doctor entered. "Oho, so _you’re_ back, are you?" Dr. Ballard took a chair without waiting to be invited and said lightly, as he seated himself facing his patient: "You speak the truth." The old woman raised her chin. "Thank you, young man. You flatter me!" "Not in the least," came the prompt retort. "I haven’t come with any such intention. I’ve come—and I may as well out with it at once—I’ve come to tell you that I have found the reason for your dislike of ’the Ballard tribe.’ I’ve discovered the case you have against us. I’ve been ferreting about among my grandfather’s effects, and I’ve unearthed his Journal. Curious, isn’t it, that a _bailiff_ should have kept a Journal?" Madam Crewe deigned no response.