"Well," said Alton, "I've noticed men smiling at me kind of curiously, and I want to know right off what's the meaning of it. There's nothing especially humorous about me."

"You don't know?" and his visitor appeared to reflect when Alton shook his head.

"Then to put it straight, there are folks who would not believe you.

No, stop a little, I mentioned nothing about myself. Have you done anything lately, that might have hurt the susceptibilities of Mr.

Cartier?"

Alton laughed grimly. "Yes," he said, "I hope so. I hove him out of this place one night and he fell downstairs."

"Well," said the other man, smiling, "that accounts for a good deal.

Do you happen to be on good terms with Mr. Hallam? Cartier is."

"No," said Alton dryly, "I don't. When Mr. Hallam and I feel at peace one of us will be dead."

"Now, this thing is getting a little more clear to me. I wasn't willing to believe all I heard, anyway."

"That," said Alton, "does not concern me. The question is what did you hear?"

The other man appeared embarrassed and sat silent a space. "I think it's only right that you should know," he said. "Well--according to Cartier--there was a lady here when he came in close on midnight, and he gave folks the impression that she stayed here altogether. That wouldn't possibly have counted for so much, but it also got about that she made use of her place to give you information that was worth a good deal about the business of Hallam and the folks she worked for."

Alton's face grew almost purple, but the dark hue faded and left it unusually pale again. "That," he said very slowly, "is a damnable lie.

The lady alluded to was here once only, and for at the most three minutes."

The other man grew a trifle uneasy under his gaze. "Of course," he said, "your word will do for me. Still, she was here, you see--and it's difficult to rub out a lie with that much behind it. I'm afraid you'll find it stick to you both like glue, especially as her employers turned the girl out immediately. Anyway, I'll do what I can for you, and now about that other car-load and the cattle?"

Alton brought his hand down crashing on the table. "The cattle? Oh, get out and come back to-morrow or next month, when I feel less like killing somebody!"

The other man appeared quite willing to accept his dismissal, and Alton vacantly noticed that a black stream of ink was trickling across the table. Mechanically he dabbled his handkerchief in it and then flung it and the ink-vessel into the grate, after which he sat still with a black stain upon the cheek that rested on his fist.

"The plucky little soul--and they've turned her out," he said. "Lord, but somebody has got to pay for this!"

He did not move for at least ten minutes, while the clamour of the city vibrated through the silent room, and when his first anger passed away became sensible of a great pity for the girl who had risked so much for him. It appeared only too probable that because of the modicum of truth it was founded on the lie would stick to both of them, and now when it was too late Alton regretted his folly. He had been fully justified in kicking Cartier out of his rooms, but he knew that everything that is legitimate is not advisable, and groaned as he saw what the story must cost the defenceless girl who had a living to earn and her father to maintain. There was so far as he could see no way out of the difficulty yet--and the one that concerned himself was almost as formidable, for he knew Alice Deringham's pride, and the damning fact remained that he could not deny the whole story.

He had flung himself back wearily in his chair when there was a step in the passage and a young man came in. He walked straight forward, and stood with one hand on Alton's table looking down on him with wonder and anger in his face. His eyes were unusually bright, and there was a great contusion on his forehead.

"Jack," said Alton simply. "Well, sit down there, and I'll try to talk to you. This is a devlish mess I've got into. Only heard about it ten minutes ago."

Jack Townshead did not move at all. "I'll stand in the meantime." he said harshly. "Unfortunately there are more concerned than you."

"Yes," said Alton wearily. "Don't rub it in. I know. Who was it told you?"

"That's beyond the question," said the lad. "Still, last night one of our men who'd been down here came in and was telling the story in the boys' sleeping-shed. I knocked him down--that is, I meant to, and started out by the first train. I'm at the mine on the south road now."

"You haven't been home?"

"No," said Townshead grimly. "I came straight to you, and in the first place you're coming with me everywhere to deny this story."

Alton sat very still for a space, and the lad seemed to quiver as he watched him. "I can't--that is, not all of it."

Every trace of colour faded from Jack Townshead's face. "Good Lord!

Damn you, Alton--it can't be true."

Alton rose up slowly and stretched his hand out, while the veins swelled out on his forehead. Then he dropped it again.

"You'll be sorry for this by and by, Jack," he said. "Don't you know your sister better--you fool? Now sit down there, and I'll tell you everything."

The lad was evidently spirited, but he was a trifle awed by what he saw in Alton's eyes, and did as he was bidden. The hoarse voice he listened to carried conviction with it, but his face was almost haggard when the story was concluded. "Now," said Alton very slowly, "that's all, and for your sister's sake you dare not disbelieve me."

Jack Townshead groaned. "Thank God," he said, with a tremor in his voice. "But, Harry, what is to be done? I simply can't tell the old man--and there's Nellie. You can't deny sufficient to be any good--and the cursed thing will kill her. Now I'm trying not to blame you--but there must be a way of getting out somehow--and it's for you to find it."

Alton leaned upon the table a trifle more heavily, his eyes half-closed, and one hand clenched.

"Yes," he said slowly. "There is a way--and I'm beginning to see it now. Get your hat, Jack, and in the first place we'll go right along and see Mr. Cartier."

The lad rose, and then, possibly because he was over-strung and needed relief in some direction, laughed harshly. "I think you had better wash your face before you go," he said.

Twenty minutes later they entered an office together and Alton signed to a clerk. "Tell Mr. Cartier I'm wanting to see him right now," he said. "You know who I am."

The man smiled, for he probably also grasped the purport of Alton's visit. "Then you had better come back in a week," he said. "He went across to Victoria yesterday."

"That," said Alton grimly, "was wise of him."

They went out, and the lad glanced at his companion. "It is of the least importance. There is more to be done!"

"Yes," said Alton simply. "You have my sympathy, Jack, but just now I can't do with too much of you. Go right away--to anywhere, and don't come back until you're wanted. I've got to think how I can best do the thing that's right to everybody."

CHAPTER XXVIII

ALTON FINDS A WAY

Daylight was fading, and it was growing dim in the little upper room where Miss Townshead sat alone. The front of the stove was, however, open, and now and then a flicker of radiance fell upon the girl, and showed that her eyes were hazy, and there were traces of moisture on her cheek. Her patience had been taxed to the uttermost that day, but Townshead, who had spent most of it in querulous reproaches, had gone out, and his daughter was thankful to be alone at last, for the effort to retain a show of composure had become almost unendurable.

It was with a sinking heart she glanced down across the roofs of the city into the busy streets where already the big lights were blinking, and remembered all she had borne with there during the last few days.

Somebody, it seemed, had industriously spread the story of her dismissal, and a refusal had followed every application she made for employment; but while that alone was sufficient to cause her consternation, the half-contemptuous pity of her former companions, and the fashion in which one or two of them had avoided her, were almost worse to bear, and sitting alone in the gathering darkness the girl flushed crimson at the memory. There was also the grim question by what means she could stave off actual want to grapple with, and to that she could as yet find no answer, while her eyes grew dim as she glanced about the little room. Townshead had changed his quarters, and many of the trifles that caught his daughter's glance had cost her a meal or hours of labour with the needle after a long day in the city, but they made the place a home, and she knew what it would cost her to part with them.

Twice she had raised her head and straightened herself with an effort, while a flicker of pride and resolution crept into her eyes, only to sink back again limply in her chair, when there was a tapping at the door, and she rose as some one came into the room. Then she set her lips and stood up very straight as she saw that it was Alton.

"I could find nobody about, and there was no answer when I knocked," he said. "So I just came in."

The girl moved a little so that she could see his face in the light from the stove, and it was quietly stern, but the movement had served two purposes, for her own was now invisible.

"And you fancied you could dispense with common courtesy in my case?"

she said.

Alton made a little grave gesture of deprecation. "I wanted to see you--very much--but please sit down."