“He is really a fine looking chap,” the detective answered. “Thirty years old--fully six feet tall--rather slender, but well built--weighs about one hundred fifty--a splendid head--smooth shaven--reddish hair--dark blue eyes--and a high, broad forehead. He is of Irish extraction--is cultured--very courteous in his manner and speech--dresses well--and knows a lot about books and authors and such things.” “I would surely know him from that description,” said Auntie Sue, thinking of the wretched creature who had fallen, sobbing, at her feet so short a time before. “But, you do not make him seem like a criminal at all. It is strange that a man such as you describe should be a fugitive from the law, is it not?” “We come in contact with many strange things in our business, Miss Wakefield,” the Burns operative answered--a little sadly, Auntie Sue thought. “Life itself is so strange and complex, though you in your quiet retreat, here, can scarcely find it so.” “Indeed, I find life very wonderful, Mr. Ross, even here in my little house by the river,” she answered, slowly. Sheriff Knox held out a newspaper to Auntie Sue: “Just happened to remember that I had it in my pocket,” he said. “It gives a pretty full account of this fellow Kent's case. You will notice there is a big reward offered for his capture. If you can catch him for us, you'll make enough money to keep you mighty nigh all the rest of your life.” And the officer's great laugh boomed out at the thought of the old school-teacher as a thief-catcher. “By the way, Sheriff,” said Auntie Sue, as they were finally saying good-bye at the door, “you didn't happen to ask at Thompsonville for my mail, did you, as you came through?” Her voice was trembling, now, with eagerness and anxiety. “I'm plumb sorry, Auntie Sue, but I didn't. You see, we were so busy on this job, I clean forgot about stopping here; and, besides, we might have caught our man before we got this far, you see.” “Of course,” returned Auntie Sue, “I should have thought of that; but I have been rather anxious about an important letter that seems to have been delayed. Some of the neighbors will probably be going to the office to-day, though. Good-bye! You know you are always welcome, Sheriff; and you, too, Mr. Ross, if you should ever happen to be in this part of the country again.” “A wonderful old woman, Ross,” commented Sheriff Knox as they were riding away. And the quiet, business-looking detective, whose life had been spent in combating crime and deception, answered, as he waved farewell to Auntie Sue, who watched them from the door of the little log house by the river, “A very wonderful woman, indeed,--the loveliest old lady I have ever met,--and the most remarkable.” CHAPTER VIII. THAT WHICH IS GREATER THAN THE LAW. When she had watched Sheriff Knox and his two companions ride out of sight, Auntie Sue turned slowly back into the house to face Judy, who stood accusingly in the kitchen doorway.