"Read them--I've _loved_ them! It's a wonder I didn't connect your
name with them at once. My wits have been woolgathering. But, hang
it! Who could have expected to find an internationally famous writer
and traveler stuck away in this corner of the world? Why haven't
seventeen or ninety people _told_ me who you were?"

She laughed at his eager interest.

"A prophet is without honor in his own country," she said. "To my
family I'm just Ocky; to the natives of Hambleton I'm only 'that Copley
girl with the queer name who's come back from furrin parts'."

She laughed again, half surprised and half embarrassed, as he suddenly
rose from his chair, marched around the table, shook hands with her and
solemnly marched back again to his seat.

"Meeting a stray Miss Copley is one thing," he assured her. "Meeting
October Copley is quite another matter."

It was impossible for her not to be touched by such sincere,
whole-hearted enthusiasm. Her throat tightened queerly. Bates, too,
an astonished spectator of the scene, was discreetly impressed. A
stand-offishness that he had felt toward Peter Creighton, the
detective, was weakened in favor of a man who thus appreciated his own
Miss Ocky. An artist in simple gestures, he testified to his new
approbation by refilling the wineglass beside Creighton's plate.

"Now, tell me what you are doing here. I can't believe it is really
you sitting opposite me, there! If any one had asked me ten minutes
ago where I supposed you might be, I would have answered that you were
probably hunting hippopotamusses in the Himalayas or--or--"

"Tigers in Africa!" suggested Miss Ocky. "No, here I really am."
Creighton had already noticed that she was usually divided between two
moods, an amused, faintly mocking one, and another that had somehow an
undercurrent of sadness. This last seemed to hold her as she added,
"Here to stay, I think. My wanderings are done and now I must--settle
down."

"Another great light has just burst on me," exclaimed Creighton.
"Janet Mackay! She must be the companion you refer to so often in your
travel books. By golly, was it she who dove beneath an ice-pack and
brought you back to the air-hole through which you had fallen?"

"That was indeed Janet! I repaid the favor later by valiantly dashing
into a burning hotel and releasing her from a beam that had dropped
across her--well, she'd call 'em limbs! Regular movie stuff. Yes,
Janet and I are now f