"Well,--with men it is purely and simply a wholehearted attraction of congenial tastes and manly virtues or evil propensities, as the case may be. There is no question of s.e.x coming between. When that enters into the reckoning, everything else goes by the board. Not that I infer that man and woman cannot be true friends and fast friends, but everything has to take second place to that question of s.e.x."

Eileen did not answer.

"Don't you agree?" asked Phil with a smile.

"No,--I do not, but I don't feel that I can argue the point."

They were silent once more. Then again Eileen broke into the quiet.

"Oh, dear!--I almost forgot. I wonder, Mr. Ralston, if you would care to come to our place the week after next. Daddy, you know, has bought Baron DeDillier's house on the hill, and we are going to have a house-warming and a big social time for all daddy's friends. Would you care to come if I send you an invitation? Jim will be there. He seldom gets left out of anything, pleasant or otherwise."

Phil was not so very sure of himself, and he would have preferred rather to have been omitted, but he could not, in good grace, decline such an invitation.

"Why, certainly!" he replied. "It will give me the greatest of pleasure."

"Good! We shall have a nice dance together to make up for the one we missed to-night,--and a talk. Maybe that night I shall be in better frame of mind for meeting your arguments on the relations of s.e.x and friendship."

Phil laughed in his own peculiar way.

Eileen Pederstone stopped up with a start and looked at him with half frightened eyes, as if endeavouring to recall a bad dream yet half afraid lest it should return to her.

Phil knew that an echo had touched her memory from that laugh.

He was about to speak of something else, to take away her thoughts, when a shadow crept up to Phil's side and a hand pulled at his coat sleeve.

He turned quickly and caught at the hand. He pulled its owner round sharply.

It was Smiler--the never-fading grimace on his face, through which penetrated an expression of fear.

"What is it? What is the matter?" asked Phil quickly.

Smiler moved his hands excitedly, trying desperately to make himself understood thereby.

He kept tugging at Phil's coat, as a dog might do, and endeavoured to get him to go along with him.

Phil tried him with several questions.

"Is it Jim Langford?" he asked at last.

Smiler nodded excitedly and pulled at Phil's coat more desperately than ever.

"Jim Langford has sent Smiler for me, Miss Pederstone. I know you will excuse me. Let me hurry you back to the hall."

"It can't be anything serious?" she queried anxiously, "no accident or anything like that?"

"Oh, no!--but Jim's a queer fish and I guess it will be best to get to him as quickly as possible. No saying what trouble he gets into in the course of five minutes."

Phil saw her safely back to the hall, wished her "Good night," and darted after Smiler who was waiting for him in the shadows.

CHAPTER XIII

The Big Steal

On Phil went through the back lanes of the town and up the hill toward the railway tracks, almost trotting in his endeavour to keep pace with the tireless Smiler.

They went past the three Warehouses,--Brenchfield's, The Pioneer Traders' and that of The O.K. Supply Company,--till Smiler came to a stand-still in front of an old, unused barn which stood in the yard in front of the central Warehouse belonging to Graham Brenchfield. Phil pushed his way inside and looked about him inquiringly.

Smiler pointed to a coal-oil lamp which hung--a dark shadow--from a nail on the wall.

Phil closed the barn door tightly, struck a match and set the lantern alight.

The barn floor was littered with damp, stale-smelling straw. Smiler kicked some of it away and knelt down. He commenced to work his fingers into the flooring boards. He gave an inarticulate chuckle when he came to a certain part, gave a tug, and immediately half of the floor swung up on well-oiled hinges, disclosing a cellar or vault almost big enough to let down a dray-load of merchandise at a time.

Phil whistled.

Smiler seized the lamp and started down by a wooden ladder, but Phil grabbed him by the coat collar, pulled him sheer out, planting him down on the floor by his side.

"After me, my dear Alphonso?" he commanded, going down the ladder with the lamp in one hand and his revolver in the other, holding on to the side of the ladder at the same time with a few of his fingers, as best he could.

He had hardly reached the bottom when Smiler was tumbling beside him.

The boy ran over to a corner of the cellar. Phil followed.

A huddled bundle lay on the damp ground. Phil dropped beside it and turned it over, setting down his lantern.

It was the unconscious form of Jim Langford, trussed with knotted ropes until it looked more like a bale of cast-off clothing than a human being. Jim's face was white and all b.l.o.o.d.y-streaked at the forehead and mouth.

Phil took out his knife and slashed at the ropes. He chafed the arms and legs. He tossed his hat to Smiler and said one word:

"Water!"

Smiler ran off up the ladder and was back in less than a minute.

Phil seized the hat and splashed some of the cold water on the upturned face, wiping the blood from Jim's mouth with his handkerchief.

After a bit, Jim sighed and opened his eyes. Phil held his hat to the oozy lips and Jim drank greedily. Soon he was all alert. He sprang to his feet, staring around him wildly.

"d.a.m.n them, the Siwashes! d.a.m.n them,--they got me! And they've got awa'."

Then he sagged at the knees and collapsed.

He did not lose consciousness again.

"Take your time!--take your time!" cautioned Phil.

Slowly Jim's strength returned and his brain cleared. He wanted to be up and away at once, but Phil, with his usual caution, insisted on hearing everything that had happened before he would move a foot, knowing that if anything had still to be done Jim would be none the worse for half an hour's rest.