So I took up the white man’s burden, told them all I’d seen and heard and picked up, ending off with the full notes of the ’phone talk. Then I laid the paper on the table and looked at them. The Chief was gazing thoughtfully at the floor, and Mr. George’s face was puckered with a frown like he’d eaten a persimmon. "It’s the queerest thing I ever heard in my life," he said. "Chapman and that girl! Why, it’s impossible. Are you sure the man on the ’phone _was_ Chapman?" "It must have been. He spoke of meeting me in the woods and Mr. Price is the only man I ever met there." The Chief looked up, glowering at me from under his big eyebrows: "What’s your opinion of this Maitland woman?" "Well, I don’t think there’s anything wrong about her—I mean I’d never get that impression from her general make-up. But before I tapped that message, I did get a hunch that she was sort of abstracted and shut away in herself. She’d lonesome habits and she’d look downhearted when she thought no one saw her. I’d size her up roughly as some one who wasn’t easy in her mind." "Have you ever heard anything of her having any sort of affair or friendship with Price?" "Not a hint of it. That’s what made me sit up and take notice. Under everybody’s eye the way they were and yet not a soul suspecting anything—you’re not as secret as that for nothing." "While they were talking on the ’phone did you notice anything in their voices—it certainly wasn’t in the words—that suggested tenderness or love?" "No, it was more as if they knew each other well. He sounded as if he was trying to jolly her along, keep up her spirits; and she as if she was scared, not at _him_ but at what he might do." "They’d be careful," said Mr. George. "A man and a woman who were involved in some dangerous scheme wouldn’t coo at each other over the wire like two turtle doves." "Love’s hard to hide," said the old man, "betrays itself in small ways. And Molly’s got a fine, trained ear." "Well, it caught no love there, Chief. The only person at Grasslands who’s got that complaint is Mrs. Price. She’s in love with Mr. Ferguson." Mr. George was very much surprised. "The deuce you say!—Old Dick fallen at last." The Chief gave a sort of sarcastic grunt. "Ferguson can take care of himself. He’s not as big a fool as he looks or pretends to be. Now these extra holidays of Miss Maitland’s you’ve spoken of—how long has that been going on?" "Since April. Before that she never wanted time off and often spent her Thursdays in the house. At Grasslands this summer she’s gone into town every Thursday and three times asked for extra days. The last was July the eighth, the day after the robbery." "Umph!" muttered the old man. "I guess we’ll know something about that when we hear from O’Malley." Mr. George, slumped down in his chair, with his hands thrust in his pockets, his chin pressed on his collar, said gloomily: