Charred Wood

"So," said Mark, annoyed, "the constable has not been around for nothing."

"You have seen him then?"

"Everywhere."

"Which proves he is a reliable constable, even if he is not a good detective." Saunders looked pleased. "But what about Ruth Atheson?"

But Mark would have his innings now. He knew well how to keep Saunders anxious.

"I am quite--well, interested in Miss Atheson."

"What!" Saunders half arose.

"Sit down, Saunders," said Mark quietly, "sit down. What's so astonishing about that?"

"You--you--are engaged to Miss Atheson? You can't mean it!"

"I didn't say that."

Saunders sat down again. "You know nothing about her," he gasped.

"The Padre's friends are good enough to appeal to me."

"But does the Padre know?"

Mark's eyes began to steel and glitter. He fixed them on Saunders, and his voice came very steady and quiet.

"Know what, Saunders? Know what?"

"Know what? Why, that Ruth Atheson is not Ruth Atheson."

"Then who is she?"

Saunders drew a deep breath, and stared hard at Mark for what seemed a long time to both. The detective broke the tension.

"Griffin," he almost shouted, "either I am a fool, and ought to be given a job as town crier, or you are the cleverest I've ever gone up against, or--"

"Or," Mark's voice was still quiet, "I may be entirely lacking in the knowledge which you possess. Get it off your mind, man--better do it soon, for you will have to later on, you know. I have quite made up my mind on that."

"Yes," Saunders seemed half satisfied, "yes, you may not know--it really looks as if you didn't. Are you the simon-pure Mark Griffin, brother of Baron Griffin of the Irish peerage?"

"Yes. Where did you get that last bit of information?"

Saunders ignored the query.

"Did you really drop in here as a traveler, aiming at nothing in particular?"

"Yes."

"Did you never know Ruth--"

"Miss--"

"Miss Ruth Atheson before?"

"No."

"Ever hear of her?"

"No."

"Are you really--interested in her?"

"Yes."

"Do you intend to stay interested?"

"Yes."

"I was mistaken. You don't know, and I guess it's my duty to tell you the truth. This girl is a runaway."

"What?" Mark was rising.

Saunders put out his hand. "Easy now, Griffin, easy now. Just wait. I am going to tell you something. I see that you really know nothing, and it's up to me to enlighten you. As I said, Ruth Atheson is not Ruth Atheson. She's the daughter of a grand duke. I can't tell you the name of the Grand Duchy, but I'll say this: it isn't very far from a certain Big Kingdom we hear a great deal about now--in fact the Duchy is a dependency of the Big Kingdom--more than that, the so-called Ruth Atheson is heiress presumptive to the throne. She'll some day be the Grand Duchess."