"You trust me?" asked the girl, with a little catch in her voice. The snow lay white on her hair; even in the shadows her eyes suggested June skies. "Without knowing who I am, or why I must have this money--you'll get it for me?" "Some people," said Mr. Magee, "meet all their lives long at pink little teas, and never know one another, while others just smile at each other across a station waiting-room--that's enough." "I'm so glad," whispered the girl. "I never dreamed I'd meet any one like you--up here. Please, oh, please, be very careful. Neither Cargan nor Max is armed. Bland is. I should never forgive myself if you were hurt. But you won't be--will you?" "I may catch cold," laughed Mr. Magee; "otherwise I'll be perfectly safe." He went into the room and put on a gay plaid cap. "Makes me look like Sherlock Holmes," he smiled at the girl framed in the window. When he turned to his door to lock it, he discovered that the key was gone and that it had been locked on the outside. "Oh, very well," he said flippantly. He buttoned his coat to the chin, blew out the candles in number seven, and joined the girl on the balcony. "Go to your room," he said gently. "Your worries are over. I'll bring you the golden fleece inside an hour." "Be careful," she whispered, "Be very careful, Mr.--Billy." "Just for that," cried Magee gaily, "I'll get you _four_ hundred thousand dollars." He ran to the end of the balcony, and dropping softly to the ground, was ready for his first experiment in the gentle art of highway robbery. CHAPTER IX MELODRAMA IN THE SNOW The justly celebrated moon that in summer months shed so much glamour on the romances of Baldpate Inn was no where in evidence as Mr. Magee crept along the ground close to the veranda. The snow sifted down upon him out of the blackness above; three feet ahead the world seemed to end. "A corking night," he muttered humorously, "for my debut in the hold-up business." He swung up over the rail on to the veranda, and walked softly along it until he came to a window opening into the office. Cautiously he peered in. The vast lonely room was lighted by a single candle. At the foot of the broad stair he could discern a great bulk, seated on the lowest step, which he correctly took to be the mayor of Reuton. Back of the desk, on which stood the candle, Mr. Max's head and shoulders were visible. He was working industriously in the immediate vicinity of the safe door. Occasionally he consulted the small traveling-bag that stood on the desk. Many other professions had claimed Mr. Max before his advent into Reuton politics; evidently he was putting into operation the training acquired in one of them. Mr. Bland was nowhere in sight.