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“Who gave you that note, Ah Fe?” she whispered breathlessly.

“Chinaman.”

“Who gave it to him?”

“Chinaman.”

“And to HIM?”

“Nollee Chinaman.”

“Another Chinaman?”

“Yes–heap Chinaman–allee same as gang.”

“You mean it passed from one Chinaman’s hand to another?”

“Allee same.”

“Why didn’t the first Chinaman who got it bring it here?”

“S’pose Mellikan man want to catchee lettel. He spotty Chinaman. He follee Chinaman. Chinaman passee lettel nex’ Chinaman. He no get. Mellikan man no habe got. Sabe?”

“Then this package will go back the same way?”

“Allee same.”

“And who will YOU give it to now?”

“Allee same man blingee me lettel. Hop Li–who makee washee.”

An idea here struck Cissy which made her heart jump and her cheeks flame. Ah Fe gazed at her with an infantile smile of admiration.

“How far did that letter come?” she asked, with eager questioning eyes.

“Lettee me see him,” said Ah Fe.

Cissy handed him the missive; he examined closely some half-a-dozen Chinese characters that were scrawled along the length of the outer fold, and which she had innocently supposed were a part of the markings of the rice paper on which the note was written.

“Heap Chinaman velly much walkee–longee way! S’pose you look.” He pointed through the open front door to the prospect beyond. It was a familiar one to Cissy,–the long Canada, the crest on crest of serried pines, and beyond the dim snow-line. Ah Fe’s brown finger seemed to linger there.

“In the snow,” she whispered, her cheek whitening like that dim line, but her eyes sparkling like the sunshine over it.

“Allee same, John,” said Ah Fe plaintively.

“Ah Fe,” whispered Cissy, “take ME with you to Hop Li.”

“No good,” said Ah Fe stolidly. “Hop Li, he givee this”–he indicated the envelope in his sleeve–“to next Chinaman. HE no go. S’pose you go with me, Hop Li–you no makee nothing–allee same, makee foolee!”

“I know; but you just take me there. DO!”

The young girl was irresistible. Ah Fe’s face relaxed. “Allee litee!” he said, with a resigned smile.

“You wait here a moment,” said Cissy, brightening. She flew up the staircase. In a few minutes she was back again. She had exchanged her smart rose-sprigged chintz for a pathetic little blue-checked frock of her school-days; the fateful hat had given way to a brown straw “flat,” bent like a frame around her charming face. All the girlishness, and indeed a certain honest boyishness of her nature, seemed to have come out in her glowing, freckled cheek, brilliant, audacious eyes, and the quick stride which brought her to Ah Fe’s side.

“Now let’s go,” she said, “out the back way and down the side streets.” She paused, cast a glance through the drawing-room at the contemplative figure of the sheriff’s deputy on the veranda, and then passed out of the house forever.

*****

The excitement over the failure of Montagu Trixit’s bank did not burn itself out until midnight. By that time, however, it was pretty well known that the amount of the defalcations had been exaggerated; that it had been preceded by the suspension of the “Excelsior Bank” of San Francisco, of which Trixit was also a managing director, occasioned by the discovery of the withdrawal of securities for use in the branch bank at Canada City; that he had fled the State eastward across the Sierras; yet that, owing to the vigilance of the police on the frontier, he had failed to escape and was in hiding. But there were adverse reports of a more sinister nature. It was said that others were implicated; that they dared not bring him to justice; it was pointed out that there was more concern among many who were not openly connected with the bank than among its unfortunate depositors. Besides the inevitable downfall of those who had invested their fortunes in it, there was distrust or suspicion everywhere. Even Trixit’s enemies were forced to admit the saying that “Canada City was the bank, and the bank was Trixit.”

Perhaps this had something to do with an excited meeting of the directors of the New Mill, to whose discussions Dick Masterton, the engineer, had been hurriedly summoned. When the president told him that he had been selected to undertake the difficult and delicate mission of discovering the whereabouts of Montagu Trixit, and, if possible, procuring an interview with him, he was amazed. What had the New Mill, which had always kept itself aloof from the bank and its methods, to do with the disgraced manager? He was still more astonished when the president added bluntly:–