Charred Wood

Father Murray was sitting in his favorite chair on the rectory veranda when Mark came up the lawn. He rose with a welcome.

"You must pardon me, Father," began Mark, "for coming so soon after your noon meal--" Mark hesitated about saying "luncheon," not knowing the habits of the rectory--"but, frankly, I wanted to talk to you before--"

"Before we go to Killimaga," supplied Father Murray as Mark paused. "Yes, I know that you are invited. Sit down and open up. I am always glad to talk--and to listen, too. What is it?"

Again Mark hesitated. "It's to ask about Miss Atheson."

Father Murray's eyes smiled. "I thought so," he said. "What do you want to know?"

Mark hesitated. "I know that the lady is very charitable and kind, but especially so to anyone whom you suggest. You must, therefore, be interested in anything that concerns her."

"I am," said Father Murray. "Very much interested."

Mark thought he noticed a new and half-suspicious note in the priest's voice, and was distressed. He felt like blaming himself for having mentioned the subject. He feared he had lost ground with his new-made friend; but, having started the discussion, Mark was determined to go through with it.

"It's just this way, Father," he said. "I think you ought to know that there is someone besides yourself interested in Miss Atheson. The incident she mentioned yesterday seemed a small one, but--well, I had to move pretty quick to keep that man from making himself obnoxious. He had a photograph in his hand and was determined to see her face in order to make comparisons. Incidentally, the constable was with him."

Mark, watching closely to note the effect of his words, saw the face before him whiten.

"The constable with him?"

"And I am confident that the other man is a detective. I feel sure he thinks Miss Atheson is someone he has been commissioned to find. And they evidently think that I am in the matter to defend the lady. This morning I left some papers in the safety deposit vault at the First National, and as I passed the bank a little while ago I saw the constable talking to the cashier--about me, judging from their confusion as they acknowledged my greeting through the window. My room was searched this morning. They didn't find anything, though." Mark laughed as he thought how disappointed Saunders must have been.

"I hope you will pardon me, Mr. Griffin," said Father Murray, "if I confine myself for the present to asking questions. Have you ever noticed the camp of Slavic laborers about a mile east of Killimaga--along the line of the new railway?"