"Nothing, except as a force obstructive to reason."

"But, Chet, I _must_ see her again," pleaded Sedgwick; "I must-"

"Exhibit that tact and delicacy which you displayed at your last meeting," broke in Kent curtly. "Asking a woman to marry you, on the day of her husband's burial!"

"It wasn't her husband's burial."

"She supposed it was."

Sedgwick checked his nervous pacing. "Do you think so? You believe she wasn't a party to that ghastly fraud?"

"Certainly not. She attended the funeral ceremony in good faith. In my belief the real circ.u.mstances of Blair's death are as unknown to her as they are to-to you."

"a.s.suming always that he is dead. Your confidence being so sound, it must be based on something. How did he come to his death?"

"If I knew that, I shouldn't be going to Boston to consult an astrologer."

"Have you still got astrology on the brain?"

"Hopelessly," smiled Kent.

"Luck go with you. And I-"

"Yes: and you?" queried Kent, as the other hesitated.

"I am going back to Hedgerow House," concluded the artist obstinately.

"If I were employed to work on this case," observed Kent dispa.s.sionately; "if it were a mere commission, undertaken on money terms, I should throw it up right here and now." He took a long strong pull at the extension end of his ear, and whistled a bar or two of _Pagliacci_. "Do you know room 571 at the Eyrie?" he asked abruptly.

"No. Yes; I do, too. That's your temple of white silence, isn't it?"

"Correct. Humor me thus far. Walk up to the hotel. Give this card to the clerk. Get the key. Go to that room at once. Lie down on your back with your eyes open, and think for one hour by the watch. If at the end of that time, you still believe you're right, go ahead. Will you do it?"

"Agreed. It's a bargain. But it won't change my mind."

"A bargain's a bargain. It won't need to," said Kent coolly. "By that time, if I have any understanding of Mr. Alexander Blair, he will have put your Lady of Mystery on the morning train which leaves for Boston by one of the other roads. If not-why, you may take your chance."

"Tricked!" said Sedgwick. "Well, I owe you too much to go back on my agreement. But-see here, Kent. She's going to Boston. You're going to Boston. You can easily find out where the Blairs live. Go to her for me and find-"

"Heaven forbid!" cried Kent piously.

"Why?"

"Haven't I told you that I am a timid creature and especially about females? Over seventy I like 'em, and under seven I love 'em. Between, I shun 'em. I'll do anything for you but that, my boy," he concluded, as the train came rumbling in.

"Then I shall have to follow, and look her up myself," returned his friend. "I'll wire you before I come. Good-by."

"By the way," said Kent, leaning out from the car step upon which he had swung himself, "don't be disturbed if you miss that drawing which we bought from Elder Dennett, at a bargain."

"Miss it? Why, where is it?"

"In my suit case."

"What's it doing there?"

"Why, you see, if it's a sketch for a finished portrait by Elliott, as I suspect, some of the art people in Boston might recognize it. Good luck!

I hope _not_ to see you soon; too soon, that is!"

Chance and a deranged railway schedule conspired against the peace of mind of the shy and shrinking Kent. Outside of Boston a few miles is a junction and a crossing. Here Kent's train was held up by some minor accident. Here, too, the train from the north on the other road stopped for orders. Thus it was that Kent, stepping out to take the air, found himself looking into an open Pullman window, at a woman's face framed in deepest black: a young face, but saddened and weary, whose unforgettable appeal of wistfulness had looked out upon him from the canvas in Sedgwick's studio.

"Mrs. Blair!"

For once in his life, Chester Kent's controlled tongue had broken the leash. Immediately he would have given a considerable sum of money to recall his impulsive exclamation. He was in an agony of shyness. But it was too late. The girlish face turned. The composed eyes scanned a serious-looking man of indeterminate age, clad in the cool elegance of light gray, and obviously hara.s.sed by some catastrophic embarra.s.sment.

"I beg p-p-pardon," stuttered the man. "Are you Mr. Blair? I'm Mrs.

Kent."

At this astonishing announcement, amus.e.m.e.nt gleamed in the woman's eyes, and gave a delicate up-twist to the corners of the soft mouth.

"I don't recognize you in your present attire, Mrs. Kent," she murmured.

"No. Of course not. I-I-meant to say-that is you know-" Kent gathered his forces, resolved desperately to see it through, now. "I'm M-M-Mrs.

Blair and I suppose you're Mr. Kent."

The soft music of her laughter made Kent savage. "d.a.m.n!" he muttered beneath his breath; and then went direct to the point. "There are things I want to speak to you about. I wish to get on your car."

"Certainly not," replied she decisively. "I do not know you."

"I am a friend of Francis Sedgwick's."

The warm blood flushed her cheeks rose-color, and died away. Her lips quivered. So much of mute helpless misery did her face show, that Kent's embarra.s.sment vanished.

"Try to believe me," he said earnestly, "when I tell you that I wish only to save both of you misunderstanding and suffering. _Needless_ misunderstanding and suffering," he added.

"It is too late," she said hopelessly.

"Forgive me, but that is foolish. Your mind has been led astray.

Sedgwick is absolutely blameless."

"Please," she begged in a half whisper, "I can't listen. I mustn't listen. I have tried to make myself believe that he acted in self-defense. But, even so, don't you see, it must stand forever between us?"

"Now, what c.o.c.k-and-bull story has Alexander Blair told her?" Kent demanded of his mind. "How much does she know, or how little?"

The jar and forward lurch of the car before him brought him out of his reverie.

"Can I see you in Boston?" he asked hurriedly.

She shook her head. "Not now. I can see no one. And, remember, I do not even know you."