Quick as a flash Donald Morris intuitively caught Peter's intention. He did not know what the reason might be, but he grasped the fact that there was some unknown necessity for Clancy to see Mrs. Rutherford alone. So completely had the young detective won his confidence that this was enough for him. "I do feel a bit seedy, Aunt Kate, and that's a fact," he said, promptly, "and Peter's just crazy to stretch those long legs of his. Take pity on him, there's a dear, and let him go along with you." Again he ignored the questioning, perplexed glance of his sister, who stood just behind Mrs. Rutherford. "The road up to Mrs. Rutherford's cottage is the loveliest thing in the park, Peter. When you've seen that, you'll agree with me that it's one of the most paintable bits in America." "Are you a painter, Mr. Clancy?" Mrs. Rutherford asked, a few moments later as they started up the curving road, Peter accommodating his long stride to her stately, ponderous step. "I should hardly have thought----" "I don't look much like one, do I?" Peter laughed. "Well, frankly, I don't consider myself one, but I'm very fond of nature--and art. It's one of the chief regrets of my life, Mrs. Rutherford, that I never saw you act." She gave him a quick, almost youthful glance, and smiled. "I think you could hardly have been born when I left the stage, Mr. Clancy. That was over thirty years ago." "But why, Mrs. Rutherford!" exclaimed Peter, tragically, "why did you leave the stage before I was born?" She threw back her white head with a hearty, infectious laugh, and pausing in her slow ascent, she turned to him, making a broad, sweeping gesture with both hands. "The answer is before you," she said. "It was this infernal--I may say infernal to you, Mr. Clancy, may I not?--Well, then, it was this infernal flesh that came upon me like a thief in the night, and nothing I could do would stop it--so I had to stop--to give up my career"--there was bitterness in the beautiful voice now--"all on account of--oh, Mr. Clancy, who could stand a fat 'Portia'! Thank God, I had sense enough to stop when I did. At least there are no grotesque memories of Kate Rohan." Up to this point in the conversation they had passed several houses and quite a number of people, to whom Mrs. Rutherford had bowed, graciously. Now the road before them lay, for a long way, fairly level and devoid of any sign of life. Unbroken ranks of tall trees threw their leafy shadows across the red shale of the road, and the soft whispering of the wind only served to accentuate the sense of solitude. In another mood, Peter would have been sensible of the wonderful beauty of the place, but now he saw nothing in it but an opportunity, the opportunity which he must not miss. Just ahead, in the shadow of a big pine, he saw a low, flat ledge of rock, lichen covered on its face and strewn above with a generous cushion of soft pine needles.