re that day and returned furtively after dark,
asking the night man if he had seen any saps around his car. The night
man looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"I dunno--nothin's been picked up since I come on at six. We ain't
responsible for lost articles, anyway. See that sign?"

Casey grunted, cranked up and drove away, wondering whether the night
man was as innocent as he tried to act.

From San Bernardino to Los Angeles Casey drove placidly as a load of
oranges in February. He put up at a cheap place on San Pedro Street,
with his car in the garage next door and a five-dollar tip in the palm
of a rat-faced mechanic with Casey's injunction to clean 'er dingbats
and keep other people away.

He did not go out to see the Little Woman, after all. He had sent her
a wire from Goffs the day before, saying that he was prospecting with a
fellow and he hoped she was well. This, after long pondering, had
seemed to him the easiest way out of an argument with the Little Woman.
The wire had given no address whereby she might reach him, but the
omission was not the oversight Casey hoped she would consider it. He
wanted to be reassuring without starting anything.

Los Angeles with no Little Woman at his elbow was a dismal hole, and
Casey got out of it as soon as possible. As per instructions, he drove
down to San Diego, ventured perilously close to the Mexico line, fooled
around there for a day looking for trouble, failed to find so much as a
frown and drove back.

He headed straight for San Bernardino, which was Smiling Lou's
headquarters. He killed time there and met the sheriff on the street
the day he arrived. The sheriff had a memory trained to hold faces
indefinitely. He smiled a little, made a polite gesture in the general
direction of his hat and passed on. Casey swore to himself and
resolved to duck guiltily around the nearest corner if he saw the
sheriff coming his way again.

On the day when his time limit expired Casey drove up the gulch to
Nolan's camp. In the car behind him rode undisturbed his Canadian
Club, Garnkirk, Three-Star Hennessey, Cognac and Tom Pepper; bottles,
labels, government seals and all. Nolan was walking over from the
tunnel when Casey arrived. He smiled inquiringly as he shook hands,--a
ceremony to which Casey was plainly unaccustomed.

"What luck, Ryan? I beat you back by about two hours. Getting things
ready to begin making it. Did they catch you all right?"

"Naw!" Casey sp