ople who own the next cottage."

"I know, but--"

"Oh, I never troubled to inquire; have a hazy notion Fiske does
something in Wall Street." Ember passed smoothly over this flaw in his
professional omniscience. "How did you happen to meet her?"

"Oh, mere accident. Over on the beach this morning. I slipped and hurt
my ankle. She--ah--happened along and brought me home in her
motor-boat."

On mature reflection, Whitaker had decided that it would be as well to
edit his already sketchy explanation of all reference to the putative
spy who wasn't Drummond; in other words, to let Ember's sleeping
detective instincts lie. And with this private understanding with
himself, he felt a little aggrieved because of the quarter toward which
Ember presently saw fit to swing their talk.

"You haven't seen Drummond--or any signs of him, have you?"

"Eh--what?" Whitaker sat up, startled. "No, I ... er ... how should I?"

"I merely wondered. You see, I.... Well, to tell the truth, I took the
liberty of camping on his trail, while in town, with the idea of serving
him with notice to behave. But he'd anticipated me, apparently; he'd
cleared out of his accustomed haunts--got away clean. I couldn't find
any trace of him."

"You're a swell sleuth," Whitaker commented critically.

"You be damn'.... That's the true reason why I ran down to-day, when I
really couldn't spare the time; I was a bit worried--afraid he'd maybe
doped out my little scheme for keeping you out of harm's way."

"Oh, I say!" Whitaker expostulated, touched by this evidence of
disinterested thoughtfulness. "You don't mean--"

"On the contrary, I firmly believe him responsible for that attack on
you the other night. The man's a dangerous monomaniac; brooding over his
self-wrought wrongs has made him such."

"You persuade yourself too much, old man. You set up an inference and
idolize it as an immortal truth. Why, you had me going for a while. Only
last night there was a fellow skulking round here, and I was just dippy
enough, thanks to your influence, to think he resembled Drummond. But
this morning I got a good look at him, and he's no more Drummond than
you are."

"The hell you say!" Ember sat up, eyes snapping. "Who was he then?"

"Simply a good-for-nothing vagabond--tramp."

"What'd he want?"

"Search me."

"But why the devil didn't you tell me this before?"

"You don't mean to say you attach any importance to the mere fact that
an ordinary tramp--"