"Never in this world, Miss Florence. Still, I beg your pardon for raising my voice. What I do and have done is only for your own sake. There are two things I wish to impress upon your mind before I go. This can be made a comedy or a terrible tragedy. You have already had a taste of the latter; and each time you escaped because God was good to us. But He is rarely kind to thoughtless people. They have to look out for themselves. I am acting under orders; always remember that." "Forgive me; I acted wrongly. But I'm so weary and tired of this eternal suspicion of everybody and everything. Can't I go somewhere, some place where I can have rest?" "If I thought for a single moment it was possible to take you thousands of miles from this spot, it would be done this very night. But this is our fortress. So far it has been impregnable. The police are watching it; and that prevents a general assault by the scoundrels. If we tried to leave we would be followed; and they play the game exceedingly well. Now, good night. We'll have you out of all this doubt and suspicion one of these days. There will not be any past; that will be lopped off as you'd lop a limb from a tree." "Please let it be quick. I want to see my father." Jones' eyes sparkled. "And you have my word that he wants to see you. But I dare not tell you." "Do you think he would object to Mr. Norton?" she asked, studying the rug. "In what capacity?" he countered, forcing her hand. "As--as a husband?" bravely. Jones in turn studied the patterns in the rug. "It is only natural for a father to look high for his daughter's husband. But, after all, an honest man is worth as much as anything I know of. And Norton is honest and loyal and brave." "Thank you, Jones. I intend to marry him when the time comes; so you may as well prepare father for this eventuality." "There is an old adage--" But she interrupted him. "If you have a new adage, Jones, I shouldn't mind hearing it. But I'm only just out of school, where old adages are served from soup to pudding. Good night." And Jones went to the rear of the house, chuckling. In the passing it might well be observed that the Hargreave house had a remarkable menage. There was a gardener, a cook, and a maid; and the three of them reported to Jones each night before going to bed. They were all three detectives from one of the greatest organizations in America.