iosity and excitement, then went on in the living
room. Skeet of course was as practical and brief as a sensible boy.

"I don't know whether she's fit to see you," she said when I spoke of
her mother. And on the instant, Ina Vandeman's clear, high voice called
down the stair,

"Bring Mr. Boyne up--now."

Skeet stepped aside for me to pass. I suppose I looked as startled as I
felt, for on my way to the house, I had seen Mrs. Vandeman drive past
toward town. I stood there at a loss, and finally said aimlessly,

"Your sister thinks it's all right?"

"My sister?" Skeet wrinkled her brows at me, and glanced to where the
twins were in sight in the living room. "That was mother herself who
called you."

All the way up the stairs, Skeet following, I was trying to swing my
rather heavy wits around to take advantage of this new development. So
far, Ina Vandeman's voice, imitated by Barbara Wallace, and recognized
by Chung and Jim Edwards, possibly by Worth, had been my lead in this
direction. If more than one woman spoke in that voice--where would it
take me?

I'd got no adjustment before I was ushered into a large dim room, and
confronted by a figure in a reclining chair by the window. Here, in
spite of years and illness, were the same good looks and thoroughbred
courage that seemed to characterize the women of this family. Mrs.
Thornhill greeted me in Ina Vandeman's very tones, a little high-pitched
for real sweetness, full of a dominating quality, and she showed a
composure I had not expected. To Skeet, standing by, watching to see
that her mother didn't overdo in talking to me, she said,

"Dear, go down stairs. Jane's left her dinner on the range and gone to
the grocery. You look after it while she's away."

When we were alone, she lay back in her chair, eyes closed, or seemingly
so, and made her statement. She'd been in her daughter's room only twice
between the reception and that daughter's going away.

"But the room was full of other people," a glimmer between lashes. "I
could give you the names of those others."

"Thank you," I said. "Mrs. Vandeman has already done that. I've seen
them all."

"You've seen them--all?" a long, furtively drawn breath. Then her eyes
flashed open and fixed themselves on me. Relief was there, yet something
stricken, as they traveled over me from my gray thatch to my big feet.

"Now, Mrs. Thornhill," I said, "aside from those two visits to your
daughter's room, where were you tha