Company's employ, if that's what you
mean. You understood so from the first."

"You know I didn't," I reproached her hotly. "Do you think I'd have let
you on the inside of this case if I'd known it was a pipe line direct to
Dykeman?"

And on the instant I spoke there came to me a remembrance of her saying
that Sunday morning as we pulled up before the St. Dunstan that she went
past the place on the street car every day getting to her work at the
Western Cereal Company. Sloppy of me not to have paid better attention;
I knew vaguely that Dykeman was in one of the North Beach mills.

"Fifty-fifty, Barbara," I conceded. "I should have known--made it my
business to learn. And Dykeman has questioned you--"

"He has not!" indignantly. "I don't suppose he knows Worth and I are
acquainted." I could have smiled at that. There were detectives' reports
in Dykeman's desk that recorded date, hour and duration of every meeting
this girl had had with Worth and with myself. Besides, Cummings knew. It
must have been through Cummings that she learned what was about to take
place in Dykeman's private office. What had she told Cummings?

I was ready to blurt out the question, when she fumbled in her bag with
little, shaking hands, drew out and passed to me unopened the envelope
addressed to Worth, with my detailed report of the Skeels chase.

"I did my best to deliver it," she steadied her voice as she spoke. "He
wasn't at the Palace. He wasn't at Santa Ysobel. He didn't communicate
with me here."

My edifice of suspicion of Barbara Wallace crumbled. Cummings had not
learned through her that I was unsuccessful in the south; nor had she
spilled a word to him that she shouldn't, or they'd have had the dope on
where Worth had found that suitcase, and thrown it at me quick.

"Barbara," I said, "will you accept my apologies?"

"Oh, yes," she smiled vaguely. "I don't know what you're apologizing
for, but it doesn't matter. I hoped you would bring me news of Worth--of
where he is."

"When did you see him last?"

"On the day of the funeral. I hardly got to speak to him."

Little Pete's news was slightly later. He'd taken Worth up to the Gold
Nugget and dropped him there. Thursday, Worth was at the Nugget for more
than an hour. On both occasions, Pete was told to slip the trailers, and
did. That meant that Worth was working on the Clayte case--or thought he
was. I told her of this.

"Yes--Oh, yes," she repeated listlessly. "But where