“Gray,” she said, “I shall love you some day, I promise you that, now, but first, you must, you will help me! I _am_ in danger, I can’t explain all to you now, I’m not sure I ever can, but in one matter you must help me. There _is_ something I want destroyed, something that must be destroyed. Will you attend to that?” “Of course I will. Give it to me quickly. Is it small enough to throw into the lake?” “Small enough, yes. But it won’t sink. Weight it, and throw it in the lake when nobody can possibly see you, or else burn it—but you couldn’t do that?” “Not very well, as I am visiting friends. But give it to me, and I’ll see to it that it is destroyed at once.” “I hoped to do it myself, but I think—I fear I am being watched. When I went to the village with Merry, a man in a canoe seemed to follow and he watched me, yet tried to look as if he were not watching me. Oh, I know.” “Did you object to Moore’s questioning?” “Oh, no.” She looked weary and a little sad. “I suppose I must go through with a lot of that.” “Do you mind his looking at your wardrobe?” “No,” she smiled at this. “What does he expect to find? I haven’t any other rubber-soled shoes. I’ve ordered a new tan pair, but they haven’t come home yet.” She scrutinized her little white canvas shoe, and as she held it up, I noticed the pattern of round dots on the rubber sole. “Give me what you want thrown away,” I whispered. “I think I hear Moore’s step. And, Alma, I must see you, unhurried and alone. Can’t you meet me some evening late—some night soon—out on the lake?” What possessed me to say that, I don’t know, but it seemed to strike her like a blow. “Oh, no,” she said, and fairly shuddered. “Don’t suggest such a thing! I never go on the lake after sundown.” This, when I had seen her canoeing after midnight! Well, all that must some time be explained, and I rushed on: “Then, let’s not keep it secret, but announce our engagement at once, and I can look after you.” “Mercy, no! What an idea. But here, here is the thing I want destroyed. Not only thrown away, it must be instantly and secretly destroyed.” “As you destroyed the shoes,” I said, involuntarily. “Yes,” she returned, gravely, almost solemnly, “as I destroyed the shoes.” From a handbag she had brought with her and had laid on the settee she drew a small book, a worn, paper-covered volume, which she hurriedly thrust into my hand, her eyes turned to the house, where we could now hear the nurse and Keeley coming downstairs. I stuffed the book into my overcoat, glad that I had with me the light topcoat I usually carried against the chill winds of Deep Lake. Then, quickly folding the coat inside out, I threw it over a chair back just as Keeley reappeared. “Thank you very much, Miss Remsen,” he said, cheerily. “Your willingness to put the whole house at my disposal makes me more sure you have nothing to conceal than any words you could say.”