"Alix! Are you awake?" It was Mrs. Strong's voice. A vast wave of relief swept through her. "Goodness!" she gasped, and then: "Come in, Aunt Nancy?" "Courtney Thane has just been here," said the housekeeper as she approached the bed. "Has he?" inquired Alix innocently. "He left a note for you." "Read it to me," said the girl. "'Dearest: I am grieved beyond words to hear that you are so awfully done up. I am not surprised. It was enough to bowl anybody over. I did not sleep a wink last night, thinking about it. I have been living in a daze ever since. I cannot begin to tell you how disappointed I am in not being able to see you this morning. Perhaps by tonight you will feel like letting me come. Ever yours, Courtney.'" "Well?" said Mrs. Strong, sitting down on the edge of the bed. A fine line appeared between Alix's eyes. She was deep in thought. "Have they caught the man?" she asked, after a moment. "Not that I know of. What's more, they'll never catch him. Bill Foss sent word up he was bringing several Italians here to see if we could identify one of them as the man." "How can we be expected to identify a man whose face was covered by a mask?" "Well, Bill is doing his best," replied Mrs. Strong patiently. "We've got to say that much for him. Charlie Webster was here early this morning to say that the police up in town have been notified, and they're sending a detective out. But he won't be any better than Bill Foss, so it's a waste of time. What we ought to have is a Pinkerton man from Chicago." Despite the calm, deliberate manner in which she spoke, there was an odd, eager light in Mrs. Strong's eyes. "I wish you would go down to the warehouse, Aunt Nancy, and ask Charlie to take the car and go up to the city. Tell him to call up the Pinkerton offices in Chicago and ask them to send the best man they have. No one must know about it, however. Impress that very firmly upon Charlie. Not even the police--or Bill Foss. Have him arrange to meet the man in town and give him directions and all the information possible. Please do it at once,--and tell Ed to have the car ready." "That's the way I like to hear you talk," cried Mrs. Strong. Half an hour later, Charlie Webster was on his way to the city. He had an additional commission to perform. Mrs. Strong was sending a telegram to her son David. II The next day a well-dressed, breezy-looking young man walked into Charlie's office and exclaimed: "Hello, Uncle Charlie!" "Good Lord!" gasped Charlie Webster. "It can't be--why, by gosh, if it ain't Harry! Holy smoke!" He jumped up and grasped the stranger's hand. Pumping it vigorously, he cried: "I'd know that Conkling nose if I saw it in Ethiopia. God bless my soul, you're--you're a MAN! It beats all how you kids grow up. How's your mother? And what in thunder are you doing here?" "I guess I've changed a lot, Uncle Charlie," said the young man, "but you ain't? You look just the same as you did fifteen years ago."