es ready saddled
for riding, and more fast men ready spurred to ride 'em,--whether to win
his races or run his errands. There ain't no man livin' ez knows better
how to make other men's games his, or his game seem to be other men's.
And from Jack Somers smilin' over there, ez knows where to get the best
wine that Bob pays for, and knows how to run this yer show for Bob,
at Bob's expense--we're all contented. Ladies and gentlemen, we're all
contented. We stand, so to speak, on the cards he's dealt us. What may
be his little game, it ain't for us to say; but whatever it is, WE'RE IN
IT. Gentlemen and ladies, we'll drink Bob's health!"

There was a somewhat sensational pause, followed by good-natured
laughter and applause, in which Somers joined; yet not without a certain
constraint that did not escape the quick sympathy of the shocked and
unsmiling Miss Nevil. It was with a feeling of relief that she caught
the chaperoning eye of Mrs. Leyton, who was entreating her in the usual
mysterious signal to the other ladies to rise and follow her. When she
reached the drawing-room, a little behind the others, she was somewhat
surprised to observe that the stranger whom she had missed during the
evening was approaching her with Mrs. Leyton.

"Mr. Rushbrook returned sooner than he expected, but unfortunately,
as he always retires early, he has only time to say 'goodnight' to you
before he goes."

For an instant Grace Nevil was more angry than disconcerted. Then came
the conviction that she was stupid not to have suspected the truth
before. Who else would that brusque stranger develop into but this rude
host? She bowed formally.

Mr. Rushbrook looked at her with the faintest smile on his handsome
mouth. "Well, Miss Nevil, I hope Jack Somers satisfied your curiosity?"

With a sudden recollection of the Siskyou gentleman's speech, and a
swift suspicion that in some way she had been made use of with the
others by this forceful-looking man before her, she answered pertly:--

"Yes; but there was a speech by a gentleman from Siskyou that struck me
as being nearer to the purpose."

"That's so,--I heard it as I came in," said Mr. Rushbrook, calmly. "I
don't know but you're right."

CHAPTER IV

Six months had passed. The Villa of Maecenas was closed at Los Osos
Canyon, and the southwest trade-winds were slanting the rains of the wet
season against its shut windows and barred doors. Within that hollow,
deserted shell, its aspect