"Only the last one."

"Bring it to me."

Obediently as an intimidated child, the astrologer left the room, presently returning with a plain sheet of paper with handwriting on one side. Kent, who almost never made a mistake, had forgotten in his absorption in the matter of the doc.u.ment, the presence, even the existence, of Marjorie Blair. He was recalled to himself, with a shock, as he felt her shoulder touch his. Involuntarily he whirled the sheet behind him.

"Let me see the rest of it, please," she said calmly enough.

Kent nodded. With drooping head, and chin a-twitch, the Master of Stars stood studying them, while they read the letter together. It was in two handwritings, the date, address and body of the letter being in a clear running character, while the signature, "Astraea," was in very fine, minute, detached lettering. The note read:

"All is now ready. You have but to carry out our arrangements implicitly. The place is known to you. There can be no difficulty in your finding it. At two hours after sundown of July the fifth we shall be there. Our ship will be in waiting.

All will be as before. Fail me not. Your reward shall be greater than you dream.

_Astraea._"

Kent looked askance at Mrs. Blair. She was very white, and her sensitive lips quivered a little, but she contrived, with an effort of courage which he marked with a flashing access of admiration, to smile rea.s.suringly.

"Don't fear for me," she said. "We Dorrances are of firm fiber."

"So I see," he said warmly. He folded and pocketed the letter.

"Had you ever been to this place before?" Kent asked of Jax.

"No."

"Then how did you expect to find it?"

"She sent me a map. I lost it-that night."

"What about the ship?"

"I wish you'd tell _me_. There wasn't any ship that I could see."

"And the reference to all being as it was before?"

"You've got me again, there. In most every letter there was something about things I didn't understand. She seemed to think we used to know each other. Maybe we did. Hundreds of 'em come to me. I can't remember 'em all. Sometimes she called me Hermann. My name ain't Hermann. Right up to the time I saw her on the Heights I was afraid she was taking me for somebody else and that the whole game would be queered as soon as we came face to face."

"It seems quite probable," said Kent with a faint smile, "that you were taken for some one else. Your personal appearance would hardly betray the error, however."

"Well, if I was taken for another man," said the puzzled astrologist, "why didn't she say so when she saw me?"

"What did she say when she saw you?"

"Why, she seemed just as tickled to set eyes on me as if I were her Hermann twice over."

"Exactly," replied Kent with satisfaction.

"Well, how do you account for that?"

Pa.s.sing over the query, the other proceeded: "Now, as I understand it, you put yourself in my hands unreservedly."

"What else can I do?" cried Preston Jax.

"Nothing that would be so wise. So do not try. I shall want you to come to Martindale Center on call. Pack up and be ready."

"But the police!" quavered Jax. "You said the place was guarded, and I'd be pinched if I tried to get out."

"Oh, no," retorted Kent, with a smile. "That wouldn't have been true, and I never lie. You inferred that, and wrongly, from my little ruse to keep you from running away. That you would be arrested eventually, if you attempted escape was true. It still is true."

"I believe it," replied Preston Jax fervently, "with you on my trail."

"Come, Mrs. Blair," said Kent. "Remember, Jax: fair play, and we shall pull you through yet."

In the taxi, Marjorie Blair turned to Kent. "You are a very wonderful person," she said-Kent shook his head-"and, I think, a very kind one."

Kent shook his head again. "Be kind to me, and leave me to go home alone."

Kent stopped the cab, stepped out and raised his hat. She leaned toward him.

"Just a moment," she said. "Perhaps I ought not to ask; but it is too strong for me. Will you tell me who the woman was?"

Kent fell back a step, his eyes widening.

"You don't see it yet?" he asked.

"Not a glimmer of light. Unless she was some-some unacknowledged member of the family."

"No. Not that."

"And you can't tell me who she was?"

"Yes; but not just now. Try to be patient for a little, Mrs. Blair."

"Very well. Your judgment is best, doubtless. Of course you know whose hand wrote the body of that letter?"

"Yes; try not to think of it," advised Kent. "It isn't nearly so ugly as it seems."

She looked at him with her straight, fearless, wistful glance.

"He had left me nothing to love," she said sadly; "but to find disgrace and shame even to the end of his life! That is hard. That it should have been my husband who gave the thing most precious to me to another woman!

But why did he write the letter to Preston Jax for her to sign?"

Chester Kent shook his head.

CHAPTER XIX-THE STRANGE TRYST

Midnight found Kent in the throes of literary effort. He was striving to compose a letter to Sedgwick that should, in turn, compose the recipient's perturbed feelings. It concluded, with some acerbity: