nstinctive fear
that the patch was showing. An idea of waiting outside until the fete
was over came into his head.

"It can't be any worse than the wallop Battling Rodriguez gave me, so
here goes," he said, starting up the finely graveled driveway with the
same feeling he always had when he dashed down the beach to plunge into
the cold waters of the ocean.

He tramped steadily along until he discovered that the driveway was
circular and that if he kept on he would land out on the street again.
Boldly he started across the lawn in the direction of the house.
Somewhere on the grounds a stringed orchestra was playing. As he passed
the tea tables he heard the clinking of ice in glasses. Looking neither
to right nor left he felt that the eyes of everyone he passed were upon
him. He tugged again at his coat tail.

He saw a servant stop and wait for him and he marched straight toward
him.

"Tradesman?" asked the servant.

"Reporter," he said, looking straight into the other's eyes somewhat
defiantly.

"Whom do you wish to see?"

"Mrs. Barton Randolph."

"This way, please."

He followed, past more tables, past more eyes. He watched while the
servant approached the woman he knew to be Mrs. Barton Randolph, who
excused herself from the group around her. The servant returned.

"You were sent here from your office?" he asked.

John produced the admission card given him by his city editor.

"Very well. Mrs. Randolph instructs me to tell you that any information
you desire may be obtained from her secretary in half an hour. In the
meanwhile you are to consider yourself as one of the guests."

He was not long in reaching the gravel driveway again and he was headed
for the street, determined to wait there for the thirty minutes, when he
noticed that to his left only a few of the tables were occupied. At one
of these he could wait in the shade. Besides, he had a feeling that he
was little more than a coward if he went outside.

Far back from the driveway, in fact at the table farthest from the
drive, he seated himself with a sigh of relief. For a while he believed
himself well alone, before he discovered that directly facing him sat
another man, a man lounging in a wicker garden chair, alone, idly
smoking a cigarette and gazing at him somewhat intently. Instantly John
disliked this man, for two reasons: he was too immaculately dressed and
his hair was so perfect that it appeared to have been moulded on his
head.

Th