bleton must know the truth. It can concern no one else. Will you
tell him?"

Mr. Hand produced his dry smile. "Nobody has to tell Mr. Hambleton
anything. He looked straight into my face that day on the hill, as we
were leaving the park."

"And he remembers?"

Something strange in Hand's expression arrested Agatha's attention,
long before he found tongue to answer. It was a look of happiness and
pride, as if he owned a treasure. "He remembers very well,
Mademoiselle."

"And what--?"

"You can't help but be square with him, Mademoiselle. But as for these
gentlemen of style--"

Hand paused in his oratory, his slow anger again burning on the
surface. Before Agatha knew what he was about, he had picked up the
handkerchief from her lap between thumb and forefinger, and was holding
it at arm's length.

"You can't squeeze a man's history out of him, as you squeeze water out
of a handkerchief, Mademoiselle," he flared out. "And you can't drop
him and pick him up again, nor throw him down. You can't do that with
a man, Mademoiselle!"

He tossed the flimsy linen back into her lap. "And I don't want any
dealings with your Strakers--nor gentlemen of that stamp."

"Nor Chatelards?"

"He's slick--slick as they make 'em. But he isn't an inquisitive
meddler."

Agatha laughed outright; and somehow, by the blessed alchemy of
amusement, the air was cleared and Mr. Hand's trouble faded out of
importance. But Agatha could not let him go without one further word.
She met his gaze with a straightforward look, as she asked: "Tell me,
have I failed to treat you as a friend, Mr. Hand?"

"Ah, Mademoiselle!" he cried; and there was a touch of shame and
compunction in his voice. As he stood before Agatha, she was reminded
of his shamed and cowed appearance in the cove, on the day of their
rescue, when he had waited for her anger to fall on him. She saw that
he had gained something, some intangible bit of manliness and dignity,
won during these weeks of service in her house. And she guessed
rightly that it was due to the man whom he had so ungrudgingly nursed.

"I'm glad you are going to Lynn, to be with Mr. Hambleton," she said at
last. "As long as he is your friend, I shall be your friend, too, and
never uneasy. You may count on that. And now will you do me another
kindness?"

"I'll put that old racing-car in order, if that's what you mean. Of
course."

"As soon as possible. But it would seem that from now