woman and intended to search his room. Mark thought quickly.
Immediate action was necessary; there were important papers in his
room, and he didn't care to have his identity known just now. Then he
smiled cheerfully, for his whole plan of action was suddenly clear.
Not only would he guard his papers, but he'd keep the detective
guessing--guessing _hard_. He walked to the desk and addressed the
clerk:

"Has any of the town banks a safety deposit vault for the public?"

"Yes, sir. The National has one and its terms are very reasonable."

Mark went to his room, and carefully gathered every scrap of paper.
The useless went into the old stove which had stood all summer waiting
the winter's need; the others he carefully placed in his pocket. Then
he went out. At the bank he rented a box and left the papers he didn't
want Saunders to see. He felt satisfied that nothing Saunders found
would relieve him of suspicion. The burning of the papers would make
the detective all the more certain that Mark ought to be watched. That
would help Miss Atheson by keeping the detective on the wrong scent.

At noon Mark went to his room to wash before lunch. Saunders had not
been very clever. There was a tell-tale smudge on the stove--a smudge
made by a hand that had blackened itself by diving down into the ashes
to search among the burned papers. Mark knew that Saunders had lost no
time in searching his room, and he was happy to be still under
suspicion.

But Mark was not so happy in contemplating the rest of the situation.
He was getting deeper into a game he knew nothing about. What was the