ist
scowled at the Italian.

"Fritz, Fritz; here, Fritz!"

The dog struggled in Harrigan's hands and tore himself loose. He went
clattering over the path toward the villa and disappeared into the
doorway. Nothing could keep him when that voice called. He was as ardent a
lover as any, and far more favored.

"Oh, you funny little dog! You merry little dachel! Fritz, mustn't; let
go!" Silence.

The artist knew that she was cuddling the puppy to her heart, and his own
grew twisted. He stooped over his materials again and tied the box to the
easel and the stool, and shifted them under his arm.

"I'll be up after dinner, Mr. Harrigan," he said.

"All right, Abbott." Harrigan waved his hand pleasantly. He was becoming
so used to the unvarying statement that Abbott would be up after dinner,
that his reply was by now purely mechanical. "She's getting her voice back
all right; eh?"

"Beautifully! But I really don't think she ought to sing at the Haines'
villa Sunday."

"One song won't hurt her. She's made up her mind to sing. There's nothing
for us to do but to sit tight. No news from Paris?"

"No."

"Say, do you know what I think?"

"What?"

"Some one has come across to the police."

"Paris is not New York, Mr. Harrigan."

"Oh, I don't know. There's a hundred cents to the dollar, my boy, Paris or
New York. Why haven't they moved? They can't tell me that tow-headed
chap's alibi was on the level. I wish I'd been in Paris. There'd been
something doing. And who was he? They refuse to give his name. And I can't
get a word out of Nora. Shuts me up with a bang when I mention it. Throws
her nerves all out, she says. I'd like to get my hands on the
blackguard."

"So would I. It's a puzzle. If he had molested her while she was a
captive, you could understand. But he never came near her."

"Busted his nerve, that's what."

"I have my doubts about that. A man who will go that far isn't subject to
any derangement of his nerves. Want me to bring up the checkers?"

"Sure. I've got two rubbers hanging over you."

The artist took the path that led around the villa and thence down by many
steps to the village by the waterside, to the cream-tinted cluster of
shops and enormous hotels.

The Italian was more fortunate. He was staying at the villa. He rose and
sauntered over to Harrigan, who was always a source of interest to him.
Study the man as he might, there always remained a profound mystery to his
keen Italian mind.