And it was then that something dawned upon Agatha: these were all friends of Mr. McVicar’s, and this was what he had meant when he spoke of their “annoying” her. But she was a college girl, and knew just how much fun could be gotten out of a lark--even a silly, sophomoric lark. She glanced over at Mr. McVicar and dimpled. “An’, mebbe,” went on the lieutenant, almost agreeably, “this is a’ inittyaytion?” “Something on that order,” said the woman-gipsy. “It was all in the interest of science,” added the man-gipsy. “We were endeavouring to make the dumb speak.” Here he began to make finger-signs at Agatha’s escort. Agatha, shocked by the cruelty of the jest, fairly whirled round upon the offender. Her reproof, however, remained unspoken; for there, between the gipsies and the door, advancing on quick foot, was an open-faced, shrewd-eyed young man. This person halted at the lieutenant’s elbow, and took the company in with swift comprehension. At the same time he drew a pencil from a breast pocket and a yellow pad from a sagging pocket lower down. Agatha had only a second in which to wonder if he, too, were d-- and d-- when, “Aloysius,” said he to the lieutenant, “what’s doing?” He pointed at the wigs. It was then that Agatha realised that she was in the presence of the danger that she (and Auntie) so much feared. The shrewd-eyed young man was a reporter! She turned helplessly to Mr. McVicar. “But he sha’n’t have my picture,” she muttered. Mr. McVicar looked down at her quickly--almost as if he had heard. Then his grey eyes went back to the lieutenant and the newspaper man. His hands were twitching. The lieutenant glanced up. “Aw,” he said disgustedly, “it’s only a fool thrick.” Then, to the waiting line, “Ye kin all go.” At this the reporter became excited. “But it ought to make a story. Have you got their names?” He sprang to the side of the woman-gipsy. It was now that Mr. McVicar did an extraordinary thing. Without a moment’s hesitation he stepped between the reporter and the woman-gipsy and gave the latter a shove that sent her spinning backward. Then he turned to the desk. “It is a trick,” he declared, “a mean, contemptible trick, and I am mostly to blame for it. But it has gone far enough.” Agatha gave a cry of amazement. It was the deep voice she had heard when the officers were approaching. And it was his! This was not gurgling: this was speech! She sank upon a bench, her face hidden in the crook of one trembling arm, and began to sob wildly. “Lieutenant,” went on the deep voice, “I ask you to save this young lady from notoriety.” The lieutenant promptly leaned far over and addressed the woman-gipsy. “Ye git,” said he harshly, “an’ yer gang wid ye. An’ if Oi hear of y’ givin’ anny names----” The woman-gipsy held up a defensive hand. “Now that the dumb hath spoken,” said she, “far be it from me to bring grief----” “Hike!” interrupted the lieutenant.