She must decide on a course of action before Detective Mitchell devised other methods to trap her, and remembrance of the scene in Brainard’s bedroom twenty-four hours before brought a hot flush of resentment in its train. She would square accounts with the detective before many days had passed, and her pretty teeth met with a determined snap. What troubled her was Beverly Thorne. She wished that she might dismiss him from her mind; then shivered involuntarily as she grudgingly admitted to herself that she feared his quick intelligence, his ever-searching eyes and cynical smile. It was an evil fate that had thrown him across her path. As the thought crossed her mind, she saw someone moving in and out among the trees to her right. The newcomer was making his way down the hillside, and she watched him idly. The man kept a zigzag course and she was unable to get a good look at his face as, with cap pulled down over his forehead and the collar of his Norfolk jacket turned up, he seemed intently scanning the ground, pausing now and then to watch a switch which he carried loosely before him in both hands. Suddenly he stopped and, facing in her direction looked up long and earnestly into the bare branches of a tall tree. Vera’s breath forsook her as she recognized Beverly Thorne. Had she conjured him to appear? After testing a lower branch of the tree with his weight Thorne transferred his attention to the cleft stick in his hand and strode onward. He was within a few yards of Vera before he discovered her presence. There followed a momentary hesitation on his part, then he advanced to the rock and bowed gravely. “You have caught me trespassing,” he began. “What is the forfeit?” Vera pointed in the direction he had come where a wire fence could be seen in the distance; she knew that placards placed at intervals announced: “No trespassing under penalty of the law.” “As a ‘J. P.’ you must be aware of the penalty exacted for trespass,” she answered, preparing to rise. He noticed her movement, and raised his hand. “Don’t let me drive you away,” he begged, appreciating to the full the charming picture she made perched on the rainbow-hued rock, her blue cape and its red cross in striking contrast to the dull colors of the woods. “I am going.” His announcement, however, while it had the effect of inducing Vera to remain where she was, proved a mere figure of speech, as he did not move from his place by the rock. At the end of a long silence Vera could not restrain her impatience, and he caught the antagonism she strove but faintly to conceal. “Miss Deane”--Thorne skirted the rock and came closer to her--“I am afraid you harbor resentment against me. I assure you that I had no hand in the trick played on you by Detective Mitchell yesterday.” “Your presence with the detective in the spare bedroom leads me to think otherwise,” she replied coldly. “I can explain,” he began, but her raised hand stayed him.