ong story. Old man
Tyringham had been a customer of his, and left a will that made it
impossible to close the estate till his son had reached a certain age.
The final settlement was to be made this summer. But my God, Hood, do you
suppose father--my father could be----"

"A defaulter?" Hood supplied blandly.

"It's impossible!" roared Deering. "Father's the very soul of honor."

"I dare say he is," remarked Hood carelessly. "So were you till greed led
you to pilfer your governor's strong box. Let us be tolerant and withhold
judgment. It's enough that your own skirts are clear. Put that stuff out
of sight; we must flit."

Hood set off for the Barton Arms at a brisk pace, talking incessantly.

"This whole business is bully beyond my highest expectations. By George,
it's almost too good to be true! Critics of the drama complain that the
average amateur's play ends with every act; but so far in our adventures
every incident leads on to something else. Perfectly immense that
somebody had beaten you to the bonds!"

Deering's emotions were beyond utterance. It was a warm morning, and he
did not relish carrying the suitcase, whose recovery had plunged him into
a despair darker than that caused by its loss.

At a turn in the road Hood paused, struck his stick heavily upon the
ground, and drew out the slipper. He whirled it in the air three times
and twice it pointed east. He thrust it back into his pocket with a sigh
of satisfaction and brushed the dust from his hands.

"Once more we shall follow the pointing slipper. Yesterday it led us to
the moon girl, the bungalow, and the suitcase; now it points toward the
mysterious east, and no telling what new delights!"

VI

Hood and Deering found Cassowary sitting in the machine in the inn yard
reading a newspaper; this Hood promptly seized and scanned with his
trained eye.

"Are the bags aboard? Ah, I see you have been forehanded, Cassowary!"

Deering went to the inn office and came out with a number of telegrams
which he read as he slowly crossed the yard.

"What do you think of this?" he asked weakly. The yellow sheets shook in
his hand and his face was white. "I wired to a bank and a club in San
Francisco last night, and they've answered that father isn't in San
Francisco and hasn't been there! And I wired the people Constance was to
visit at Pasadena, and they don't know anything about her. Just look at
these things!"

"Sounds like straight information, bu