“Thank you.” Vera stole another look at him under lowered lids, but his air of detached, friendly interest baffled her. What motive had inspired his burst of passion a scant five minutes before? Vera’s eyes closed as if in pain, and there danced before her mental vision the words: “February 14--In grateful remembrance.” Was Thorne sincere in his proffer of friendship or was he still antagonistic to her and trading upon a woman’s sentiment to mask his true feelings? Pshaw! It was only fair to suspend judgment. It was the least that she could do in view of Thorne’s past kindness--but why had he pocketed the card so hastily? Vera opened her eyes to find Thorne anxiously regarding her. With perceptible hesitancy she took up the conversation where she had left off. “Perhaps when you call to see Mr. Porter I will get you to prescribe for me.” “I am at your service.” Thorne bowed courteously. “May I accompany you as far as the lane?” “Certainly.” And keeping step as much as the trees permitted they finally reached the path and walked briskly down it. Vera, who had been thinking intently, was the first to break the silence. “Have you studied law as well as medicine, doctor?” she asked. “And is that why they made you justice of the peace?” “Not entirely,” he responded, as he opened the gate of the lane. “I have a smattering of the law, and a passion for criminal investigation.” “Indeed?” Vera was unable to repress a start, and she quickly covered her agitation by pointing to the cleft switch which Thorne still carried balanced lightly in both hands. The switch, apparently of its own volition, had assumed a perpendicular position. “Why are you carrying that twig?” “Looking for water; I want to sink an artesian well, and this little wand points the way in my investigation.” “Oh! But you cannot hope to build the well on Mrs. Porter’s property.” Thorne laughed heartily. “Hardly; Mrs. Porter would never give me permission to do so.” “Then why waste time trespassing on her property?” Again Thorne laughed, but a shadow lurked in his eyes as he glanced keenly at his questioner. “Frankly, I have two investigations under way,” he acknowledged. “One to locate a spring, and the other to discover who murdered Bruce Brainard.” Vera’s back was toward the setting sun, and her face was in shadow. “If you spend your time looking for wells you will not solve the mystery of Mr. Brainard’s death,” she said with slow emphasis. “I’m not so sure of that.” Thorne spun the cleft stick about in his fingers. “Are we not told that truth lies at the bottom of a well? Good-by.” And lifting his cap he vaulted the fence which separated his property from the Porter estate and disappeared behind some barns. Vera did not at once resume her walk to the house, and when she did so her usually light footstep was dragging and her expression more troubled. “Has Miss Millicent returned, Murray?” she asked on entering the butler’s pantry a few minutes later.