achine to the sidewalk.

I heard the sobbing of the Ford truck; it went by, missing my
runningboard by an inch, stopped at Vandeman's gate and Skeet discharged
her cargo of clamor to stream across the sidewalk and up toward the
bungalow. I saw Barbara, in the midst of the moving figures, suddenly
stop, knew she had seen the two over there, and crossed to her, with a
cheerful,

"He's here all right."

"Oh, yes," not looking toward the gap in the hedge, or at me. "He came
on the same train with--with them."

Then some one from the porch yowled reproachfully for her to fetch those
banners _pronto_, and with a little catching of breath, she ran on up
the walk.

I turned back. Worth and Ina had moved on. Bronson Vandeman, well
groomed, dressed as though he had just come in off the golf links, his
English shoes and loud patterned stockings differentiating him from the
crude outdoor man of the Coast, had joined them on the Gilbert lawn; his
genial greeting to me let his bride get by with a mere bow, turning at
once back to her house by the front walk. But rather to my annoyance,
Vandeman came bounding up the steps after us. I judged Worth must have
invited him.

Chung carried my suitcase upstairs, and lingered a minute in my room.
I'll swear it wasn't merely to get the tip for which he thanked me, but
with the idea of showing me in some recondite, Oriental fashion that he
was glad I'd come. This interested me. The people who were glad to have
me in Santa Ysobel at this time belonged on the clean side of my ledger.
Then I went downstairs to find Vandeman still in the living room,
sprawled at ease beside the window, looking round with a display of his
fine teeth, reaching a hand to pull in the chair Worth set for me.

"Well, Jerry," that young man prompted, indicating by a careless gesture
the smokers' tray on the table beside me, "there is time before dinner
for the tale of your exploits. How's my friend Steve?"

I began to select a cigar, and said shortly,

"It's all in reports waiting for you at my office."

"Yes." Worth ignored my irritation. "Tell it. What'd you do down south?"

"Just back from the south yourself, aren't you?" I countered.

"Sure," airily. "But I wasn't there to butt in on your game. Did you
find that Skeels was Clayte?"

I merely looked over the flame of my match at that small-town society
man, smiling back at me with a show of polite interest.

"Go on," Worth interpreted. "Vandeman knows