"But you are altogether too modest," she laughed. "Not that it's a bad trait in the character of a professional.... But really! it seems a bit incredible that any one so widely advertised as Handsome Dan Anisty should feel surprise at being recognized. Why, your portrait and biography have commanded space in every yellow journal in America recently!" And, dropping the revolver into a pocket in her cloak, "I was afraid you might be a servant--or even Maitland," she diverted the subject, with a nod. "But--but if you recognized me as Anisty, back there by the ford, didn't you suspect I'd drop in on you--" "Why, of course! Didn't _you_ all but tell me that you were coming here?" "But--" "I thought _perhaps_ I might get through before you came, Mr. Anisty; but I knew all the time that, even if you did manage to surprise me--er--on the job, you wouldn't call in the police." She laughed confidently, and--oddly enough--at the same time nervously. "You are certainly a very bold man, and as surely a very careless one, to run around the way you do without so much as troubling to grow a beard or a mustache, after your picture has been published broadcast." Did he catch a gleam of admiration in the eyes behind the goggles? "Now, if ever they get hold of _my_ portrait and print it.... Well!" sighed the girl wickedly, lifting slim, bare fingers in affected concern to the mass of ruddy hair, "in that event I suppose I shall have to become a natural blonde!" Her humor, her splendid fearlessness, the lightness of her tone, combined with the half-laughing, half-serious look that she swept up at him, to ease the tension of his emotions. For the first time since entering the room, he smiled; then in silence for a time regarded her steadfastly, thinking. So he resembled this burglar, Anisty, strongly enough to be mistaken for him--eh? Plainly enough the girl believed him to be Anisty.... Well, and why not? Why shouldn't he be Anisty for the time being, if it suited his purpose so to masquerade? It might possibly suit his purpose. He thought his position one uncommonly difficult. As Maitland, he had on his hands a female thief, a hardened character, a common malefactor (strange that he got so little relish of the terms!), caught red-handed; as Maitland, his duty was to hand her over to the law, to be dealt with as--what she was. Yet, even while these considerations were urging themselves upon him, he knew his eyes appraised her with open admiration and interest. She stood before him, slight, delicate, pretty, appealing in her ingenuous candor; and at his mercy. How could he bring himself to deal with her as he might with--well, Anisty himself? She was a woman, he a gentleman.