my grounds, and were hidden among the trees on the terrace below my house. I sent a servant to search for them; he found an old man and a girl. I gave them money and they went away. Some of my neighbors related a similar experience, and I thought no more of it, but for the last two weeks the couple has been coming repeatedly to my home, and I have grown suspicious. The old man wears dark glasses and says he is blind; the girl leads him. As they don't leave San Mateo and are coming so frequently to my estate, I fear they have some treacherous object."

"I

He avoided the detective's shrewd gaze, which sharpened when he saw the change in Van Dorn's face. want you to go to San Mateo and inquire into the lives of these people," he added, quickly. "Of course, I do not wish to be known in the affair, unless you can find something positive against them."

"Have you ever talked with the old man or the girl?"

The millionaire moved uneasily. "Yes." There was the slightest touch of emotion in his voice. "About a week ago I spoke to her. She said that the old violinist is her father, and that they are Italians. I asked her why she didn't work. She said she could not leave the old man alone, because he is blind. I'd like to know something of their life. The girl seems willing to answer any question, but I don't care to appear interested. It is very unusual to see a beautiful girl singing in the street, then passing her tambourine. I'd like to know what brought them to San Mateo."

"In other words, the particulars of their private life?" Mr. Keller interposed.

After a slight hesitancy, in which Mr. Van Dorn studied the detective's keen, pointed features, he answered:

"Yes. Aside from the fear I have of them, I confess that I am curious. If they are worthy of help, I am willing to assist them. I'd be glad to give the girl a musical education . . . that is, to send her away. She has a

remarkable voice." He paused. "I have works of art in my home that would be a golden harvest for a thief; besides, my wife and daughter are afraid of these mysterious beggars. Really, it is more on their account than my own that I am seeking your services."

Mr. Keller was conscious of a slight confusion in the millionaire's manner. It seemed as though he felt called upon to make some explanation for employing a detective in the matter; yet he appeared uncertain as to the way he should phrase his request in order to arouse any semblance of curiosity on the part of the detective.

"What is their name?" Mr. Keller asked.

"I don't know. The girl is called Amata." Mr. Van Dorn's face flushed slightly.

The detective dropped his eyes.

Some time passed before either spoke; Mr. Van Dorn took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow.

Mr. Keller rose and opened the window. "We are having warm weather for April, aren't we?" he said. As he turned back, the millionaire was standing.

"Summer is approaching," Mr. Van Dorn carelessly remarked, and a more composed light was in his eyes. "You will come down to San Mateo at once, won't you? Take a room in the Peninsula Hotel. The couple often sing in the grounds."

to

Mr. Keller nodded. I'll not be many days finding out all you want know."

When the detective was alone, he went back to his desk, and, with a puzzled frown, dropped into his chair. After a time, he took up the newspaper. Immediately his eyes fell on a flambuoyant advertisement that covered half the page. It had been inserted by the Prosperity Oil Company of Bakersfield, California, and was written in glowing terms to attract those who seek fortunes without work and those who had endured a life of struggle and longed for a comfortable old age. Mr. Van Dorn was the presi

dent of the oil company. Turning the page, Mr. Keller found another advertisement signed by the San Mateo Realty Company, selling valuable lots on easy installments. It made an eloquent appeal to the home-seeker who wished an excelelnt climate, scenic beauty and fertile land. Mr. Van Dorn was president of this company also.

The detective's frown deepened. He knew that the Prosperity Oil Company was not a reliable concern. Of the San Mateo Realty Company he knew nothing, but he did know that Mr. Van Dorn was a multi-millionaire and was called in business circles a daring plunger and promoter, and he tried, unsuccessfully, to fathom the mystery of why this determined, fearless man should give a second thought to the insignificant street musicians.

II.

The gentle breeze that fanned Miss Van Dorn's cheeks as she stepped out on the broad veranda of the Peninsula Hotel was refreshing. She walked slowly to the edge of the steps and gazed over the grounds. A young man followed her, but appeared to take interest in neither the scene nor the girl. He was frowningly thoughtful. Miss Van Dorn's deep blue eyes were critically examining the garden, and she seemed bored. The dreamy stillness was broken only by the voices of the guests in the hotel parlors and the rustle of the leaves as they fell from the trees.

The young man fastened a sudden gaze on his companion, and, as if she felt his glance, she turned.

"Isn't it quiet, Roy?" she said. said. "Sometimes I become exasperated with this country life." Her voice was light and sharpened with dissatisfaction.

"I like the quiet," he answered. His mellow tones contrasted noticeably with hers.

She shrugged impatiently, and walked a few steps from him. His eyes followed her slender figure. Her

blonde head had a haughty poise, and the diamonds that sparkled on her white throat and in her hair were coldly brilliant like the girl. There was no youthful simplicity about her. She always was overdressed.

Miss Van Dorn and Roy Marston had been friends for five years, and their families were intimate. The Van Dorns were endeavoring to win Roy for their daughter, and the girl favored him, because the Marstons were not only the leaders of society in San Mateo, but the family was distinguished, and could refer to ancestors in the English aristocracy. Mr. and Mrs. Van Dorn regarded this marriage as the crowning triumph of their ambitious career.

Mr. Van Dorn had started life as a miner, having come West from a small town in Pennsylvania. Twenty years before, he had married, in San Francisco, a highly cultured girl, ambitious like himself. Love never had touched them, but they lived in harmony, working to make their marriage of convenience a brilliant success. Their daughter was reared like one born of the blood royal.

Roy Marston studied Miss Van Dorn as she stood leaning against the balustrade, and he wished that she were more different. His family favored their union on account of the Van Dorn millions, but he cared nothing for the vanities of life. He was an industrious young lawyer, simple and modest, loving a quiet life and a country home. "Are you displeased with me, Marcella ?" he asked.

"Yes. You have been away two months and I heard from you only four times. The last three weeks, I didn't hear at all. Of course, I have no right to expect any more from you," she quickly added, with a tinge of bitterness, "but you promised you would write often.'

"I am sorry. I was occupied."
She looked away.
"How do you

like Bakersfield?"

"Almost any town is pleasant if one goes to it on agreeable business." His thoughtful frown returned.

"Then you enjoyed your trip?"
"No!"

Their friends were coming out on the veranda. There had been fifteen invited to a dinner given by Mr. and Mrs. Emile Gordon, who were among the most distinguished residents of San Mateo.

Mrs. Van Dorn, of whom Marcella was a replica, cast an anxious glance at her daughter.

"Are you chilly in the night air, my dear?" the mother asked.

Marcella did not heed her, but began conversing with Elsie Gordon, the host's daughter, a pretty little brunette.

"The street musicians are coming here this evening," Miss Gordon said to Marcella. "The girl will sing for us. She has a charming voice, hasn't she?"

Marcella shrugged.

"Who is she?" Roy asked.

"A beggar girl, who appeared just after you went to Bakersfield."

The guests were arranging themselves in little groups on the veranda. Miss Van Dorn and Miss Gordon took chairs near the steps, and their fathers sat close by, smoking. Mr. Marston stood leaning against the balustrade between the young women.

"How did you find things in Bakersfield?" Mr. Gordon asked him.

"Very good. Everything seems prosperous."

"You were there on oil business?" "Yes." A sudden reticence came into Roy's voice and manner.

Mr. Van Dorn gave him a quick glance, then a penetrating light flashed into his eyes, as he fastened a searching look on the young man. He suspected that Roy was avoiding his gaze, and he covered his surprise and anxiety by saying with calm assurance:

"Oil stocks are selling well now. I have some very rich property."

"You always are lucky," Mr. Gordon answered.

Mr. Van Dorn smiled, then he nodded to a friend, who sat some distance away, and, excusing himself, went to him.

Roy glanced from Mrs. Van Dorn

to her daughter, and sympathy came into his eyes.

Mr. Van Dorn drifted into the hotel by the side entrance. As he closed the door, he abruptly halted and checked an exclamation when he found himself confronted by an old acquaint

ance.

"This is a pleasant surprise," the man said, affably, "and I am flattered that you recognize me after all these years." He was perhaps forty, slightly below medium height, and of a somewhat dashing and picturesque type, yet roughly handsome and youthful for his age.

Mr. Van Dorn mastered himself. "Hello, Burke!" he said. "Where did you come from?"

"Klondike. I've been there off and on for the last ten years, but now I've made money enough, and intend to spend the rest of my days in ease."

"I congratulate you. What brought you here?"

"I heard in San Francisco that you were living in San Mateo, so I came down to see you. The Peninsula Hotel suits me as well as any place better, since my old friend is here."

Irritation darted into Mr. Van Dorn's eyes, but he smiled.

"I'm surprised that you thought of me. It has been a long time since we met."

"About twenty years."

"So it has! How time flies!"
"But memory clings."

Mr. Van Dorn reddened, and a brief silence followed.

"I never have had the pleasure of meeting your wife," the man went on, familiarly. "I'll be very glad to know her. It's lonesome around here for a stranger. I want to get into society. You have made yourself a power, and there is no reason why I should not do the same."

Mr. Van Dorn eyed him, astonished. "We never were friends, and you have no right to expect any favors from me," he angrily retorted.

A challenging light came in Burke's eyes. "Look here, Van Dorn, I have not forgotten how you got your start

Mr. Van Dorn's muscles tightened, but he opened the door and stepped out on the veranda. He was vanquished for the moment, but he would find some way to rid himself of Burke. With the man at his side, he walked across the veranda, and going to his wife, introduced them.

Mrs. Van Dorn betrayed a mild surprise, and glanced inquiringly at her husband. She saw at once that Burke lacked a distinguished air, and wondered why her husband had presented him.

"That beautiful young lady is your daughter, isn't she?" Burke asked, as he and Mr. Van Dorn moved away from the group. "She is the image of her mother."

Marcella greeted him less courteously than had her mother, but he disregarded her coldness, and taking a chair near her, chatted with Mr. Gordon, who was polite to every one.

Mr. Marston surmised that something was wrong.

"Here comes the singer!" Miss Gordon gaily exclaimed.

The girl was coming along slowly, leading the old man. As she reached the foot of the steps, she halted and glanced at Mr. Gordon. Roy looked down at her with surprised curiosity. Her severely plain, close-fitting black dress revealed her fine, well-developed figure. She was tall, erect, dignified. Her arms below her elbow sleeves were white, strong and beautiful. The

V-shaped opening of her waist showed her exquisitely moulded throat. She was the embodiment of youth, health and beautiy. Roy saw all this at a glance, but it was her wonderful face that held his attention. Her features were finely cut, her cheeks were pale, but her lips were crimson. Combed softly back from her brow, her wavy black hair hung over her shoulders in two heavy braids that fell below her waist. It was her large eyes that made her face remarkable. They were mottled dark gray and blue, shading into deep violet, and they reflected a pure,

fearless soul.

where you are and sing for us?" Mr. Gordon rose. "Will you stand

Conversation had ceased, and all were eyeing the strange musicians. The old man was tall, slender, with long, white hair and an erect figure, as fearless as the girl's.

The young singer nodded to Mr. Gordon, and dropping the old man's hand, brought a chair for him. Her loving care of him was betrayed in the way she held his arm while he slowly sat down. She took the violin from his wrinkled hand and removed the worn green felt case. The blind musician snuggled the instrument under his chin and tuned it. Presently the girl's fresh young voice began the "Forbidden Music" by Gastaldon. Her tones, mellow with tenderness, rang out rich and sweet.

Mr. Van Dorn had drawn back into the shadow and eagerly listened. He was breathing hard. Under the spell of her voice, this scene faded from his eyes. He saw instead a rough log cabin situated on the outskirts of a mining town and he saw himself a young man, afire with love and ambition, but foremost in his vision stood a beautiful Italian girl, who had forsaken the opera stage for love of him. He felt again her fascination, and he heard her voice singing her favorite romance, "The Forbidden Music." The remembrance of her beauty and charm enthralled him, and her name Amata meaning "Beloved"-sprang to his lips, but suddenly he roused to the

realization that it was not the visionary girl who was singing, but this beggar girl who was so like the other Amata.

Marcella was annoyed because Roy had not moved since the singer had come up the walk. When the song ended, a murmur of praise went round.

"What do you think of her, Roy?" Mr. Gordon asked in a low tone, so that the girl could not hear.

Marston slowly turned to him. "There are no words to describe her," he said. "I'd like to know who she is.

Her father is a splendid old fellow, and just as interesting as the girl."

"I'm surprised at you, Roy!" Marcella said, contemptuously. "How can you find anything interesting in street beggar ?"

a

Roy turned quickly to see if the girl had heard, but there was no sign of it in her calm face.

"Won't you sing again?" Mr. Gor

don asked Amata.

She nodded, and spoke to the old man in Italian. He began the introduction to another familiar song, and her voice rang out with tenderness and passion in Cottrau's "Addio a Napoli."

"What feeling she throws in it!" Mr. Gordon exclaimed.

Roy nodded. "Look at her eyes! She could throw her soul into any song."

Marcella's cheeks burned, and she went and sat with a young man some distance away, and began to converse animatedly with him. Roy did not heed her.

Mr. Van Dorn slipped into the chair his daughter had left. "You admire her. . . both of them, don't you. Roy?" he asked in a tone vibrant with

interest and repressed emotion combined with a touch of fear.

"Yes. I wish I could paint! What a striking picture they would make!" Mr. Burke was slowly rocking, and appeared very much at ease. He kept a watchful eye on Mr. Van Dorn, and was aware of a change in the millionaire's face."

"Come up and pass your tambourine," Mr. Gordon said when the song ended.

While the old man put his violin back into its cover, almost as easily as though he was not blind, Amata went upon the veranda. Mr. Gordon dropped some silver pieces into her tambourine and she went to the others. Her refinement and modesty, and the gratitude in her eyes were attractive. A touch of shyness added a charm to her simplicity and grace. She gave Mr. Van Dorn a friendly smile and greeting, and he reddened, knowing that his wife, Marcella and Mr. Burke were eyeing him. When she held out her tambourine to Roy, their eyes met, and a faint coloring overspread her face. The old man was waiting for her at the foot of the steps, and taking his hand, she slowly led him down the path. A man stepped out from the shadow of the trees, and after giving her some money, spoke a few words. She pointed to the road in front of the grounds, and the man walked along at her side.

Mr. Van Dorn moved uneasily. He recognized Mr. Keller, the detective, and his eyes were fastened on the three as long as he could see them. As he turned away, he found that Mr. Burke was curiously eyeing him.

(Continued next month.)