"No, of course not. Not by name. But what was it she said about the planet that she pointed out, over the sea?"

"Oh; was that Jupiter? How did you know?"

"Looked last night, of course," said Kent impatiently. "There's no other planet conspicuous over the sea at that hour, from where you stood.

That's not important; at least, not now. What did she say?"

"Oh, some rot about daring to follow her star and find happiness, and that perhaps it might lead me to glory or something."

A kind of snort came from Kent. "Where have my brains been!" he cried.

He thrust the bit of embroidery back into his pocket. Then, with an abrupt change of tone:

"Well, is your temper in hand?"

"For the present."

"Tell me about it, then."

"You remember the-the picture of the face?" said Sedgwick with an effort.

"n.o.body would easily forget it."

"I've been doing another portrait from the sketches. It was on opaque gla.s.s, an experimental medium that I've worked on some. Late this afternoon I went out, leaving the gla.s.s sheet, backed against a light board, on my easel. The door was locked with a heavy spring. There's no possible access by the window. Yet somebody came in and smashed my picture to fragments. If I can find that man, Kent, I'll kill him!"

Kent glanced at the artist's long strong hands. They were clenched on his knees. The fingers were bloodless.

"I believe you would," said the scientist with conviction. "You mustn't, you know. No luxuries, at present."

"Don't joke with me about this, Kent."

"Very good. But just consider, please, that I'm having enough trouble clearing you of a supposed murder of your doing, to want a real one, however provoked, on my hands."

"Keep the man out of my way, then."

"That depends. Anything else in your place damaged?"

"Not that I noticed. But I didn't pay much attention to anything else. I came here direct to find you."

"That's right. Well, I'm with you, for the Nook."

Locking his curious room after him, Kent led the way to the hotel lobby, where he stopped only long enough to send some telegrams. The sun was still a few minutes short of its setting when he and his companion emerged from the hotel. Kent at once broke into a trot.

CHAPTER X-THE INVASION

Such ruin as had been wrought in Sedgwick's studio was strictly localized. The easel lay on the floor, with its rear leg crumpled.

Around it were scattered the fragments of the gla.s.s upon which the painter had set his labor of love. A high old-fashioned chair faced the wreckage. On its peak was hung a traveling cap. Lopping across the back sprawled a Norfolk jacket belonging to Sedgwick. Chester Kent lifted the coat, and after a swift survey let it drop.

"Did you leave that there?" he asked.

"I hung it across the back of the chair," answered Sedgwick.

"North window closed?"

"Yes, as you see it now."

"And west one open?"

"Nothing has been changed, I tell you, except this." Sedgwick's hand, outstretched toward the destroyed portrait, condensed itself involuntarily into a knotty fist.

"The lock of the door hasn't been tampered with," said Kent. "As for this open window," he leaned out, looking around, "any man gaining access here must have used a ladder, which is unlikely in broad daylight."

"How about a pa.s.s-key for the door?"

"There's a simpler solution nearer at hand, I fancy. You didn't chance to notice that things have happened to the coat, as well as to the easel."

"Then the invader went through the coat and, not finding what he was looking for, smashed my picture," cried Sedgwick.

"Through the coat, certainly," agreed Kent, with his quiet smile. "Now hang it across the chair back just as it was, please."

Sedgwick took the Norfolk jacket from him. "Why, there's a hole through it!" he exclaimed.

"Exactly: the path of the invader."

"A bullet!"

"Right again. Instead of murdering, as you pine to do, you've been murdered. That the picture was destroyed is merely a bit of ill fortune.

That you weren't inside the coat when the bullet went through it and cut the prop from your easel, is a bit of the other kind. Hang up the coat, please."

Sedgwick obeyed.

"There," said Kent viewing the result from the window. "At a distance of, say, a quarter of a mile, that arrangement of coat and cap would look uncommonly like a man sitting in a chair before his work. At least, I should think so. And yonder thicket on the hillside," he added, looking out of the window again, "is just about that distance, and seems to be the only spot in sight giving a straight range. Suppose we run up there."

Sound as was his condition, Sedgwick was panting when he brought up at the spot, some yards behind his long-limbed leader. As the scientist had surmised, the arrangement of coat and cap in the studio presented, at that distance, an excellent simulacrum of the rear view of a man lounging in a chair. Bidding the artist stay outside the copse, Kent entered on hands and knees and made extended exploration. After a few moments the sound of low lugubrious whistling was heard from the trees, and presently the musician emerged leading himself by the lobe of his ear.

"Evidently you've found something," commented Sedgwick, who had begun to comprehend his friend's peculiar methods of expression.

"Nothing."

"Then why are you so pleased with yourself?"

"That is why."

"Because you've found nothing?"

"Exactly."