His voice was soft and low as her own, his face wreathed in smiles--and such a face!--plump, rosy cheeked, young, fresh and boyish, save for the slightest touch of gray in the dark hair about his temples. His eye alone, to the close student of men, might have revealed his profession. It looked a steady blaze of light from beneath straight intellectual brows. “You had better understand at once, Miss Butler,” he began, “that I am a prosperous young business man from the North at present engaged in the organisation of cotton mills in the South.” Stella could not repress a smile, as she said: “I must say you look the part.” “I have engaged board at Mrs. Wilson’s and asked Mr. John Graham to act as my attorney in the organisation of a company in this county.” “I see,” she cried, for the first time catching the steady light of Ackerman’s eye. “I cannot be seen in conference with you. We will report to each other by letter. But we must clearly understand each other. Am I right that you mean to press this case to the bitter end, let the blow fall on whom it may?” “Certainly,” was the firm answer. “I learn from the Attorney General’s office that you are on the track of the man who is Commander-in-chief of the Klan in this state?” “Yes.” “Pardon another question. I must know if you are in dead earnest? I have found that women have little tenacity of purpose in such cases and as a rule cannot be depended on.” “I’ll show you that they are not all alike!” Stella broke in angrily. “Then may I ask that if you succeed in securing this name that you will place it in my hands without a moment’s delay?” “At once.” CHAPTER V--IN THE TOILS STELLA determined to make one more direct appeal to John Graham before resorting to indirect subterfuges for the purpose of meeting him. She wrote half a dozen letters and tore them up. They lacked simplicity. The only effective appeal to this man must disarm all suspicion of subtlety. It must be natural, sincere and ring true. She found it a very difficult thing to express in cold written words one thing and mean another, and yet preserve the ring of truth and sincerity. At last she wrote a letter which seemed to be effective. She read it over and over, and added to the paper the faintest touch of delicate perfume, an old extract of sweet pinks, which she had used the night of their meeting. She laid it aside and waited an hour to carefully read it again. It was too important to risk a failure. Should he once suspect an ulterior purpose of any kind her plan must end in utter defeat. She spent an hour walking through the lawn, returned and read again the letter. It seemed cold, stiff and artificial, and the touch of perfume obvious and vulgar. It lacked the magnetism of personality. She had no power to convey this as yet in words. She must see him face to face, hold him with the deep charm of her great eyes, and enfold him with the spell of her beauty.