“Yes; but what has she done?”

“Disappeared.”

“Not at all.  She sent back messages.  So there can’t be any mystery about it.”

“But there might be what the howling headlines call ‘romance.’  In fact, there is, if they happen to have found out about it.  And this looks very much as if they had.  Ban, are you going to tell your reporter friend about Miss Welland?”

Banneker smiled gently, indulgently.  “Do you think it likely?”

“No; I don’t.  But I want you to understand the importance of not betraying her in any way.  Reporters are shrewd.  And it might be quite serious for her to know that she was being followed and hounded now.  She has had a shock.”

“The bump on the head, you mean?”

“Worse than that.  I think I’d better tell you since we are all in this thing together.”

Briefly she outlined the abortive adventure that had brought Io west, and its ugly outcome.

“Publicity is the one thing we must protect her from,” declared Miss Van Arsdale.

“Yes; that’s clear enough.”

“What shall you tell this Gardner man?”

“Nothing that he wants to know.”

“You’ll try to fool him?”

“I’m an awfully poor liar, Miss Camilla,” replied the agent with his disarming smile.  “I don’t like the game and I’m no good at it.  But I can everlastingly hold my tongue.”

“Then he’ll suspect something and go nosing about the village making inquiries.”

“Let him.  Who can tell him anything?  Who’s even seen her except you and me?”

“True enough.  Nobody is going to see her for some days yet if I can help it.  Not even you, Ban.”

“Is she as bad as that?” he asked anxiously.

“She won’t be any the better for seeing people,” replied Miss Van Arsdale firmly, and with that the caller was forced to be content as he went back to his own place.

The morning train of the nineteenth, which should have been the noon train of the eighteenth, deposited upon the platform Gardner of the Angelica City Herald, and a suitcase.  The thin and bespectacled reporter shook hands with Banneker.

“Well, Mr. Man,” he observed.  “You’ve made a hit with that story of yours even before it’s got into print.”

“Did you bring me a copy of the paper?”

Gardner grinned.  “You seem to think Sunday specials are set up and printed overnight.  Wait a couple of weeks.”

“But they’re going to publish it?”

“Surest thing you know.  They’ve wired me to know who you are and what and why.”

“Why what?”

“Oh, I dunno.  Why a fellow who can do that sort of thing hasn’t done it before or doesn’t do it some more, I suppose.  If you should ever want a job in the newspaper game, that story would be pretty much enough to get it for you.”

“I wouldn’t mind getting a little local correspondence to do,” announced Banneker modestly.