It was a dreary evening for her. She did not care much to read--actual life interested her far more than books--and now all her thoughts were centered on Jack.
"It’s a pretty long walk from that farmer’s place," she kept saying to herself. "But he will come soon, oh, he must come soon."
Her reflections were broken by hearing an unknown step upon the stairs, followed by a sharp rap at the door.
Hardly knowing whom to expect at this hour of the night, she bade the person enter.
Deb did not know the man. She had seen him on the streets, but though he was fairly well dressed, she was not taken by his general appearance.
"Does Jack Willington live here?" asked Corrigan, with a hasty glance around the kitchen, to see who might be present.
"Yes, sir," replied Deb, and then realizing that the man might have news for her, she continued quickly: "Did he send you?"
"Yes, Miss. He said I was to get a model that he had here."
This assertion surprised the girl. What in the world could Jack want with his model this time of night?
Corrigan was not prepared to answer this question.
This reply was a fatal blunder for Corrigan, who by a little scheme of his own, had proposed to get the model into his possession without any difficulty.
"In McGlory’s saloon!" repeated Deb, in amazement. "Why, Jack doesn’t drink."
"Oh, yes, he does--once in a while," replied Corrigan, glibly.
"You’re mistaken!" returned Deb, sharply. "What does he want the model for?"
She was growing a trifle suspicious. The article in question was valuable, and just now doubly so.
"I don’t know what he’s going to do with it. Got it handy?"
Involuntarily Deb glanced over to where the model stood covered with a cloth. She regretted the action an instant after, for Corrigan’s eyes watched her closely.
"How far is that saloon from here?" she asked.
"He was too busy. He asked me to go for him, and sent this paper as an order. He said you’d know all about it," replied Corrigan, and he handed out the agreement he had stolen from Jack.
Deb recognized the paper at once. Jack must certainly have given it to the man, and yet, for a reason she could not explain, she felt that all was not right.
One thing she remembered; her brother had repeatedly cautioned her not to let outsiders examine the model under any plea. To place it, therefore, in a stranger’s hands seemed a risk she did not care to assume.