"Is there any one you can suggest—any one that you _know_ you could trust and who would be willing to undertake it?" "Yes," the word came with a sudden decision. "I know some one." Larkin eyed her sharply. She looked more alive than she had done since her entrance, seemed to be vitalized into a roused, responsive intelligence. "I know exactly the person." "Entirely trustworthy?" "Absolutely. Mr. Ferguson—Dick Ferguson." "Oh, yes, Ferguson of Council Oaks." He mused a moment under her hungry scrutiny. "Do you think he’d be willing to—er—agree to their demands as you have?" "Yes, he’d do it to help me. He’s an old friend; I know him through and through. He’d do it if I asked him." The detective was silent for a moment, then said: "Well, we have to have some one and if you’re willing to vouch for him I’ll abide by what you say. Before you came in I was thinking of offering to do it myself. But there are reasons against that. I don’t mind helping you this way—quietly, on the side—but to be an actual participant in the final deal, handle the money, be more or less responsible for the person of the child—I’d rather not—I’d better not. And anyway I think I can be more useful as an observer, an unsuspected spectator who may see something worth while." She gave a stifled scream and caught at his hand, resting on the edge of the desk: "No, no, Mr. Larkin, _please_, I beg of you. You’re not going to try and catch them." Her fingers gripped like talons; he laid his free hand over them, soothingly patting them: "Now, now, Mrs. Price, please have confidence in me. Am I likely, at this stage of the game, to do anything to queer it?" She did not reply, her eyes shifting from his, her teeth set tight on her quivering underlip. He waited a moment and then spoke with a new note, dominating, authoritative, as one in command: "My dear lady, you’ve got to get hold of yourself. I can’t go on with this if you don’t trust me. We’re launched on an enterprise by no means easy and if we don’t pull together we’ll fail, that’s all." That steadied her. She dropped his hand and broke into tremulous protestations: "I do, I do, Mr. Larkin. It’s only that I’m so terribly afraid, so upset and desperate. Of course I trust you. Would I be here, day after day, if I didn’t?" He was mollified, dropped back with the crisp, alert manner of the detective. "All right, we’ll let it go at that. Now as to Ferguson—you’ll have to get word to him at once. Is he in the country?" "No—he’s here. I had a telephone from him this morning to say he was in town and would be at the hotel later in the day. He’s probably there now, waiting for me." "Um!" Larkin considered for a moment. "That’s lucky. There’s no time to waste. Get his consent and then ’phone me here. Just a word. And you understand he’ll have to know the circumstances; he’ll have to be wise to everything if he’s to play his part."