“It’s dollars to doughnuts that she figures in his mysterious absence. Miss Farley evidently is too proud to say just what she thinks of the woman. It’s long odds that she’s a bit fly and fancy, at least.” “Quite likely,” Nick allowed. “There are some experiences, you know, that women reveal only under desperation’s spur. Until driven to desperation, it is characteristic of their sex to be silent, and bitterly nurse their resentment. When self-restraint ends, however, and desperation takes the ribbons, they go completely over the traces and to any extreme.” “That’s true, chief,” said Patsy. “Hell, it’s said, has no fury like a woman scorned. I reckon, chief, it was Kate Crandall who called on Maybrick Tuesday evening?” “That’s an open question,” said Nick. “It is important that we shall find a correct answer to it. The fact that the veiled woman, whoever she was, remained alone with Maybrick in the library for an hour, indicates that they were discussing a serious matter.” “Sure thing, chief.” “Evidently, too, their interview led to his withdrawing the five hundred dollars from the bank the following morning. He may for some reason have agreed to pay her that amount. The fact that he departed with two empty suit cases, however, shows that he was expecting to receive something from her, or from persons with whom he evidently had an appointment. “His carrying a revolver, moreover, which is quite extraordinary for a clergyman, indicates that he anticipated trouble. He may have got in much deeper than he expected.” “In over his head, chief, I’m thinking,” Patsy dryly vouchsafed. “That now appears to be about the size of it,” Nick agreed. They had rounded a corner of the side street while speaking, and then were approaching the rectory. It stood on a plot of ground between the rear of the church and an attractive estate occupied by a handsome wooden dwelling. Both were somewhat back from the street, and an iron picket fence divided the two estates. As he was approaching the end of this fence where it met the sidewalk, Nick recalled what Harriet Farley had said about Kate Crandall playing the spy near the rectory. He paused to view the adjoining grounds. They would have offered concealment for such a spy, and Nick’s impression proved profitable. “This way, Patsy, for a moment,” he said quietly. He saw that there was no path at that point leading to the rear of the house. The close-cut greensward showed faint footprints, nevertheless, and Nick walked into the grounds some twenty yards, carefully inspecting a narrow flower bed that ran parallel to and near the fence for a considerable distance. He found, not exactly what he was seeking, but of the same character. He discovered several footprints in the dark soil of the flower bed, at a point nearly back of the rectory and some thirty feet from it. Contrary to Nick’s expectations, however, the imprints evidently had been caused by the shoes of--men.