"Have ye heard, Miss--Ma'am," she began incoherently. "Mr. Paul, God rest his soul, has left me and Charles one thousand dollars each." "Is that so? I congratulate you, Martha." Miriam shifted her hand bag and held it more firmly against her. There was an intangible something about Martha which invited distrust. "Mr. Abbott was most generous." "Yes Miss--Ma'am; he had call to be," Martha's voice had assumed its old complaining whine. "Us took good care of him. I don't mind telling you Miss--Ma'am, that my husband ain't quite satisfied. He wants more." "Oh!" "Yes." Martha's grievances were displacing her first feeling of elation at the, to her, large sum of money. "Charles, he's mad, clean through. He says he's goin' to Sheriff Trenholm." "And why to the Sheriff?" questioned Miriam in surprise. "Oh, he's kinder good at giving advice--when ye got something to tell him." Martha's slow, expressive wink annoyed Miriam and without paying further attention to the woman, she went through the sunparlor and outside the house. Martha, in no wise disturbed by Miriam's cool reception of her confidences, went slowly on with her work, her mental process of "thinking" betrayed by her facial contortions. The young deputy was just starting his engine when Miriam appeared at the side of his car. "Can you tell me where I will find Sheriff Trenholm?" she asked. Ben Riley touched his hat and a pleased smile stole over his freckled face. He had admired Miriam at a distance for several days, although she had been utterly oblivious of his existence. That she might be under surveillance never entered her head. The indefatigable Martha had complained to her of the presence about Abbott's Lodge of a number of deputies, and Riley had been pointed out to her by Somers as one of them. "The sheriff's at his home," Riley explained, then, as her face showed plainly her disappointment, he added, "Can I take a message to him? I'm on my way there now." With Miriam to think was to act. It was imperative that she see Trenholm. "Can I drive over with you?" she asked, and her charming smile completed Riley's conquest. "Yes, Miss Ward," he stammered, with gratifying emphasis, and opened the door of his roadster. "Hop in." They had gone half the distance to Upper Marlboro and were about to turn from the main road to the one leading to Trenholm's bungalow, when they were passed by Mrs. Nash's Rolls-Royce which continued down the main road at such a speed that Miriam had only a glimpse of Alexander Nash seated by the chauffeur. The fur collar of Pierre's heavy chauffeur's overcoat was turned up about his face and his most intimate friend would have failed to recognize him as he drove along, under Nash's instructions, breaking the speed laws of Maryland. Pablo, the Filipino, answered Miriam's ring of the door bell at the bungalow with a promptness that suggested that he had observed Riley's car when it turned into the driveway.