ls firmly clasped in the jaws of
the Ensenada trap, I had sent a complete report of my doings up to that
time, and the optimistic outlook then, to Barbara with instructions for
her to get it to Worth. She would know where he was.

But she hadn't. Her reply, waiting at San Diego for me, a delicious
little note that somehow lightened the bitterness of my disappointment
over Skeels, told me that she had seen Worth at the funeral, almost a
week ago now, but only for a minute; that she had supposed he had joined
me on the Skeels chase; and she would now try to hunt him up and deliver
my report. Roberts, too, had a line in one of his reports that Worth had
called for the suitcase on the Monday I left and had neither returned it
nor been in the office since.

I worried not at all over Worth; if he wanted to play hide and seek with
Dykeman's spotters, he was thoroughly capable of looking after himself;
but in the Skeels matter, I did then what I should have done in the
first place, of course; turned the work over to subordinates and headed
straight home.

I reached San Francisco pretty well used up. It was nearly the middle of
the forenoon next day when I got to my desk and found it piled high with
mail that had accumulated in my absence. Roberts had looked after what
he could, and sorted the rest, ready for me. Everything concerning the
Clayte case was in one basket. As Roberts handed it to me, he explained.

"The Van Ness bank attorney--Cummings--has been keeping tabs on you
tight, Mr. Boyne. Here every day--sometimes twice. Wants to know the
minute you're back."

I grunted and dived into the letters. Nothing interesting. Responses
acknowledging receipts of my early inquiries. Roberts lingered.

"Well?" I shot at him. He moved uneasily as he asked.

"Did you wire him when you were coming back?"

"Cummings? No. Why?"

"He telephoned in just before you came saying that he'd be right up to
see you. I told him you hadn't returned. He laughed and hung up."

"All right, Roberts. Send him in when he comes." I dismissed the
secretary. Cummings was keeping tabs on me with a vengeance. What was on
his chest?

I didn't need to wait long to find out. In another minute he was at my
door greeting me in an off-hand, "Hello, Boyne. Ready to jump into your
car and go around with me to see Dykeman?"

"Just got down to the office, Cummings," I watched him, trying to figure
out where I stood and where he stood after this week's abs