And away he cantered into the North. * * * * * Behind the curtains of her open window Eve Strayer, lying on her bed, had heard every word. Crouched there beside her pillow she peered out and saw Trooper Lannis ride away; saw the Fry boy start toward Harrow Place on a run; saw Ralph Wier watch them out of sight and then turn and re-enter the lodge. Wrapped in Darragh's big blanket robe she got off the bed and opened her chamber door as Wier was passing through the living-room. "Please -- I'd like to speak to you a moment," she called. Wier turned instantly and came to the partly open door. "I want to know," she said, "where I am." "Ma'am?" "What is this place?" "It's a hatchery----" "Whose?" "Ma'am?" "Whose lodge is this? Does it belong to Harrod Place?" "We're h-hootch runners, Miss----" stammered Wier, mindful of instructions, but making a poor business of deception; "-- I and Hal Smith, we run a `Easy One,' and we strip trout for a blind and sell to Harrod Place -- Hal and I----" "_Who_ is Hal Smith?" she asked. "Ma'am?" The girl's flower-blue eyes turned icy: "Who is the man who calls himself Hal Smith?" she repeated. Wier looked at her, red and dumb. "Is he a Trooper in plain clothes?" she demanded in a bitter voice. "Is he one of the Commissioner's spies? Are _you_ one, too?" Wier gazed miserably at her, unable to formulate a convincing lie. She flushed swiftly as a terrible suspicion seized her: "Is this Harrod property? Is Hal Smith old Harrod's heir? _Is_ he?" "My God, Miss----" "He _is!_" "Listen, Miss----" She flung open the door and came out into the living-room. "Hal Smith is that nephew of old Harrod," she said calmly. "His name is Darragh. And you are one of his wardens. ... And I can't stay here. Do you understand?" Wier wiped his hot face and waited. The cat was out; there was a hole in the bag; and he knew there was no use in such lies as he could tell. He said: "All I know, Miss, is that I was to look after you and get you whatever you want----" "I want my clothes!" "Ma'am?" "My _clothes!_" she repeated impatiently. "I've _got_ to have them!" "Where are they, ma'am?" asked the bewildered man. At the same moment the girl's eyes fell on a pile of men's sporting clothing -- garments sent down from Harrod Place to the Lodge -- lying on a leather lounge near a gun-rack. Without a glance at Wier, Eve went to the heap of clothing, tossed it about, selected cords, two pairs of woollen socks, grey shirt, puttees, shoes, flung the garments through the door into her own room followed them, and locked herself in. * * * * * When she was dressed -- the two heavy of socks helping to fit her feet to the shoes -- she emptied her handful of diamonds, sapphires and emeralds, including the Flaming Jewel, into the pockets of her breeches. Now she was ready. She unlocked her door and went out, scarcely limping at all, now.