“I hope there’s nothing wrong?” he inquired anxiously, as he noted the excitement and the worried look on her face.

“I—­I’m afraid there may be,” she replied, sitting down and explaining what Elaine and I had just done.

The Lieutenant listened gravely.

“And,” she concluded, “they wouldn’t listen to me, Lieutenant.  Can’t you follow them and keep them out of trouble?”

Woodward who had been listening to her attentively jumped up as she concluded.  “Yes,” he cried sympathetically, “I can.  I’ll go myself with some of the men from the post.  If they get into any scrape, I’ll rescue them.”

Almost before she could thank him, Woodward had hurried from his office, followed by her.  On the parade grounds were some men.  Quickly he issued his orders and a number of them sprang up as he detailed them off for the duty.  It was only a moment before they returned, armed.  An instant later three large touring cars from the Fort swept up before the office of Woodward.  Into them the armed men piled.

“Hurry—­to the Del Mar bungalow,” ordered the Lieutenant, jumping up with the driver of the first car.  “We must see that nothing happens to Miss Dodge and Mr. Jameson.”

They shot away in a cloud of dust, followed hard by the other two cars, dashing at a breakneck speed over the good roads.

In the narrow, wooded roadway near Del Mar’s, Woodward halted his car and the soldiers all jumped out and gathered about him as hastily he issued his directions.

“Surround the house, first,” he ordered.  “Then arrest any one who goes in or out.”

They scattered, forming a wide circle.  As soon as word was passed that the circle was completed, they advanced cautiously at a signal from Woodward, taking advantage of every concealment.

. . . . . . .

Around in the kitchen back of Del Mar’s, Henry, the valet, had retired to visit one of the maids.  He was about to leave when he happened to look out of the window.

“What’s that?” he muttered to himself.

He stepped back and peered cautiously through the window again.  There he could see a soldier, moving stealthily behind a bush.

He drew back further and thought a minute.  He must not alarm us.

Then he wrote a few words on a piece of paper and tore it so that he could hold it in his palm.  Next he hurried from the kitchen and entered the study.

Del Mar had scarcely begun to outline to us a long and circumstantial pseudo-investigation into what he was pleased to hint had been the death of Kennedy, when we were interrupted again by the entrance of his valet.

“Excuse me, sir,” apologized Henry, as Del Mar frowned, then noted that something was wrong.

As the valet said the words, he managed surreptitiously to hand to Del Mar the paper which he had written, now folded up into a very small space.