the fact turned out to be.

"Why don't you?" Vandeman gave passing attention. She shook her head and
put it.

"Skeels, at liberty, was quite possibly Clayte; Skeels captured cannot
be Clayte. Mr. Boyne, do you call that a paradox?"

"No--an unkind slam at a poor old man's ability in his profession. I
started out to find a gang; but Clayte and Skeels are so exactly one,
mentally, morally and physically, that I don't see why we should seek
further."

"Back up, Jerry," Worth tossed it over at me. "Let Barbara"--he didn't
often use the girl's full name that way--"give you a description of
Clayte before you're so sure."

"How could I?" The girl's tone was defensive. "I never saw him."

"I want you," Worth paid no attention to her objections, "to describe
the man you thought you were asking for that day at the Gold Nugget,
when Jerry butted in, and your ideas got lost in the excitement about
Skeels. Deduce the description, I mean."

"Deduce it?" Barbara spoke stiffly, incredulously, her glance going from
Worth to the well-gowned, well-groomed woman beside him. I remembered
her moment of rebellion yesterday evening on the lawn, when she said so
bitterly that if he asked it again, she'd do it again, as she finished,
"Deduce--here?"

"Here and now." Worth's laconic answer sent the blood of healthy anger
into her face, made her eyes shine. And it brought from Ina Vandeman a
petulant,

"Oh, Worth, please don't turn my dinner table into a side-show."

"Ina, dear." Vandeman raised his eyes at her, then quite the cordial
host urging a guest to display talent, "They say you're wonderful at
that sort of thing, and I've never seen it."

Barbara was mad for fair.

"Oh, very well," she spoke pointedly to Vandeman, and left Worth out of
it. "If you think you'd really enjoy seeing me make a side-show of Ina's
dinner table--"

She stopped and waited. Vandeman played up to the situation as he saw
it, with one of his ready smiles. Worth threw no life-line. Ina didn't
think it worth while to apologize for her rudeness. Skeet was openly in
a twitter of anticipation. There was nothing for me to do. A little
commotion of skirts told us that she was drawing up her feet to sit
cross-legged in her chair.

"She's going to! Oh, golly!" Skeet chortled. "Haven't seen Bobsy do one
of those stunts since I was a che-ild!"

Arms down, hands clasped, eyes growing bigger, face paling into snow, we
watched her. To all but Vandeman, this was