"But one is usually the niece of one's aunt." "I think you need a cigarette," said Clancy dryly. "Organisms accustomed to poisonous stimulants often wilt when deprived too suddenly of such harmful tonics." Carshaw edged around slightly and looked at this quaint detective. "I apologize," he said contritely. "But the crowd got my goat when it jeered at me as a murderer. And the long wait was annoying, too." Clancy, however, was not accustomed to having his confidences slighted. He was ruffled. "Perhaps what I was going to say is hardly worth while," he snapped. "It was this. If, by chance, your acquaintance with Winifred Bartlett goes beyond to-day's meeting, and you learn anything of her life and history which sounds strange in your ears, you may be rendering her a far greater service than by flattening Fowle's nose if you bring your knowledge straight to the Bureau." "I'll not forget, Mr. Clancy. But let me explain. It will be a miracle if I meet Miss Bartlett again." "It'll be a miracle if you don't," retorted the other. So there was a passing whiff of misunderstanding between these two, and, like every other trivial phase of a strange record, it was destined to bulk large in the imminent hazards threatening one lone girl. Thus, Clancy ceased being communicative. He might have referred guardedly to Senator Meiklejohn. But he did not. Oddly enough, his temperament was singularly alike to Carshaw's, and that is why sparks flew. The heart, however, is deceitful, and Fate is stronger than an irritated young man whose conventional ideals have been besmirched by being marched through the streets in custody. The garage in which Carshaw's automobile was housed temporarily was located near One Hundred and Twelfth Street. He went there on the following afternoon to see the machine stripped and find out the exact extent of the damage. Yet he passed Winifred's house resolutely, without even looking at it. He returned that way at half past six, and there, on the corner, was posted Fowle--Fowle, with a swollen nose! There also was their special patrolman, with an eye for both! The mere sight of Fowle prowling in unwholesome quest stirred upwrath in Carshaw's mind; and the heart, always subtle and self-deceiving, whispered elatedly: "Here you have an excuse for renewing an acquaintance which you wished to make yourself believe you did not care to renew." He walked straight to the door of the brown-stone house and rang. Then he rapped. There was no answer. When he had rapped a second time he walked away, but he had not gone far when he was almost startled to find himself face to face with Winifred coming home from making some purchases, with a bag on her arm. He lifted his hat. Winifred, with a vivid blush, hesitated and stopped. From the corner Fowle stared at the meeting, and made up his mind that it was really a rendezvous. The patrolman thought so, too, but he had new orders as to these two.