"You dreamed of him!" Glen paused in her eating, while her face turned pale.

"There, now, I am sorry I mentioned it, Miss Weston. I knew it would worry you. But perhaps it is just as well for you to know."

"Indeed it is, especially when it concerns that man. Oh, he is not a man, but a brute. Please tell me about your dream."

In a few words Reynolds told her all, and when he had ended she sat for some time lost in thought. Her right arm rested upon the table, and her sunbrowned, shapely fingers lightly pressed her chin and cheek.

She was looking out of the window which fronted the lake, as if she saw something there. The young man, watching, thought he never saw her look more beautiful. Presently a tremor shook her body. Then she gave a little nervous laugh, and resumed her breakfast.

"I am afraid I am not altogether myself this morning," she apologized.

"But how can I help feeling nervous so long as Curly is anywhere in this country?"

Reynolds was about to reply when Nannie entered and told him that the master of the house wished to see him. With a quick glance at Glen, and asking to be excused, he left the room, expecting that the storm which had been so mercifully delayed was now about to break.

CHAPTER XIX

THE TURN OF EVENTS

The master of Glen West was sitting at his desk as Reynolds entered.

He was smoking, and at the same time reading a newspaper in which he was deeply interested. The latter he at once laid aside, and motioned his visitor to a chair. He then picked up a box of cigars lying near.

"Do you smoke?" he asked. "If so, you will enjoy these. They are a special brand."

"Thanks," Reynolds replied, as he lifted one from the box, and proceeded at once to light it. This reception was so different from what he had expected that he hardly knew what to think. Anyway, the first move was favorable, and that was a good token.

"You left me very abruptly last night," Weston charged, looking keenly at the young man.

"I certainly did," and Reynolds smiled. "But sometimes there is a virtue in abruptness, especially----"

"Especially what?" Weston queried, as Reynolds hesitated. "Go on."

"When a situation becomes tense and awkward."

"And you think it was so last night?"

"I am sure of it."

"What is your reason?"

"My own common sense."

Weston was silent for a few seconds, and puffed steadily at his cigar.

Reynolds watching him out of the corner of his eye, wondered what was pa.s.sing through his mind.

"Have the Indians been telling you anything?" Weston presently asked.

"About what?"

"Curly, and what happened to him?"

"Nothing. Didn't I tell you so last night?"

"I know you did, but I can hardly believe it. Are you sure?"

"I am positive. They were as silent and mysterious as the Sphinx. You deserve great credit, sir, for the way you have them trained."

This seemed to relieve Weston, and he even smiled.

"I was afraid they had been telling you something, but I am thankful to know that they can be trusted. But, see here, someone must have told you. Was it Glen or Nannie?"

"Oh, no; they are not to blame."

"Well, then, how in the world did you find out?"

"And so I was right?" Reynolds asked.

Weston removed the cigar from his mouth, and looked curiously at his visitor.

"Were you not sure?" he queried.

"Not at all," and Reynolds laughed. "I was not sure last night, though I am now."

A sudden cloud overspread Weston's face, which, pa.s.sed away, however, almost instantly.

"I wish I had known this sooner, young man. You would not have got off so easily, let me tell you that. I was positive that you understood everything. But tell me, what led you to suspect the truth about Curly?"

"That you had not burned him alive?"

"Yes."

Reynolds deliberately removed the band from his cigar, and laid it carefully in the ash-tray. He was enjoying Weston's perplexity, which he believed was a new experience for this autocrat of Glen West. What a story he would have to tell his old friend Harmon. The editor would surely forgive him for going on what he called "a wild-goose chase,"

instead of searching for the missing Henry Redmond. What a write-up all this would make for his paper.

"Did you hear what I said?" Weston's voice was somewhat impatient.

"I beg your pardon," Reynolds apologized. "My mind was wool-gathering.

You asked what led me to suspect the truth about Curly, did you not?"

"I did."

"Well, apart from yourself, and what I saw in you, there were four things which influenced my judgment. I only thought of one until I met you last night."

"And what are they?" Weston was keenly interested.

"First of all, I could not imagine that a man would burn a fellow-being alive who kept that near him," and Reynolds motioned to a book lying upon the desk.