The effect was contrary to his anticipations. She smiled, her face assuming a more cheerful expression than he had ever seen upon it. "Stupid fools!" she said, briefly, emphasizing in two words of similar import, the depth of her contempt for the representatives of the law. It was a revelation to Forrester, which, more than anything else, influenced some of his subsequent actions. "What has become of your dog?" he asked. "I missed his friendly reception." Again her face glowered. "The police shot him," she answered. Then added, "I’m busy; you’d better run along," thus ending the interview abruptly as she had before. "I think I will," assented Forrester. "Good-bye," and he walked away along the path that led by the tree, conscious that the inscrutable eyes of the negress were following him in speculation. Forrester returned home, but instead of going directly into the house he strolled across the lawn to the pergola. There he sat down to smoke his pipe, and analyze his impressions of Lucy. A golden glow from the late afternoon sun hung over the lake. Here and there a sailing craft with sun-gilded sails moved lazily along before the gentle offshore breeze. Birds chirped in the trees at his back, and humming insects hovered around him. Nature breathed peace and restfulness. Only man—and woman—created the turmoil and misery that disturbed life’s predestined course. If only human beings would realize that when His work was done all that was needed had been accomplished, and cease their ineffectual attempts to check or alter the inevitable. Yet, while man continued to battle, man must also fight back. Forrester’s reveries were interrupted by the spluttering roar of a motor and he glanced toward the garage. William, seated in the big car, was tuning up his engine, while a man, pale, haggard and unsteady on his feet, trudged across the lawn toward the pergola. Forrester was surprised to see Green up and in action. The detective entered and sank weakly into a chair near Forrester. "What’s up, Green?" cried Forrester. "I thought you were still confined to your bed." "I’m goin’ back to bed when I get home," replied Green. "I’m goin’, Mr. Forrester; I’m through!" "You mean you are going to leave me?" queried Forrester. "Yes," assented Green. "I ain’t got any wife or children, but I may have some day, and I don’t want to disappoint ’em by being bumped off now. Besides, it ain’t dignified for a detective to be gassed off while his back is turned—without a chance. If I _have_ to die, I’m goin’ to die fightin’. So I’m goin’, Mr. Forrester. That’s final." "I’m sorry, Green," admitted Forrester, earnestly. "You have become almost like one of the family. You have been a help, too. Some of your ideas have been tip-top, and I may yet profit by hints you have given me. If I do, I’ll not forget that bonus I promised you."