“Oh, I don’t know. I guessed it. It came to me last night, while I was lying awake, thinking. I knew--Nabby told me--that he had been here to see Uncle Foster several times on what he called important business. And Varunas heard a little of what he said to uncle on the station platform yesterday. And this ‘business’ of his was so important that Uncle Foster took him as far as Denboro on the train in order to hear it. I wondered--and wondered--and then--I guessed.” “My--my--my! Well,” with a sigh, “you guessed right. I don’t think _I_ should have guessed. For one thing I wouldn’t have believed the scamp could keep a secret from me so long-- Humph! I rather think he is sorry he kept this one. And he’ll be sorrier still before I get through with him. Yes, he was the man.... And now, dearie, I want you to sit down in that chair, and just listen, and be a brave girl, while I tell you the whole story, every last scrap of it.” The eleven o’clock train was an hour late that day and Foster Townsend’s temper was not improved by the delay. He had had a wearisome, trying session since leaving home the previous afternoon, the culmination of a week of trial and worry. Millard Clark’s “important business” had come as a new and most disturbing shock to his mind. The greater part of the mystery concerning the accident to Seymour Covell was a mystery no longer, but there were some points still unexplained. He knew now how Covell had been hurt and where, but he did not know--nor could Clark tell him--why his guest had driven the Townsend span to that spot at that hour. That troubled him. Any reason which his imagination could furnish was not reassuring. Then, too, his meeting with Covell, Senior, in Boston was not altogether a pleasant memory. The Chicago man had not breathed a word of reproach or blame, but Townsend felt himself to blame nevertheless. The young fellow had been put in his charge; he had, in a way, assumed responsibility for his safety and his actions. The accident was bad enough, but if behind it was something disreputable--why, that was worse. And, beside this was the question of the obligation owing Bob Griffin. The hints and rumors concerning Bob’s part in the happenings of that night were whispered everywhere. He, himself, had heard no direct accusations, but they were certain to be made. He could prevent them by telling the truth, and compelling Millard to tell it, but that would not stifle curiosity, merely headed in other directions. The two young men were fighting--but why? And, more than all, why was Covell there? Scandal, scandal, and more scandal! And his niece’s name sure to be coupled with it.