The returning ride seemed very brief, and, almost before West realized
it, the car whirled in through the Coolidge gate, and came to a stop at
the door. Coolidge by this time had recovered from his spell of
ill-nature, or else chose to so appear, and the party separated
pleasantly. Natalie disappeared somewhere within, while the two men
strolled out to the tennis court where the guests were enjoying a
spirited game. All met again at lunch, and then separated, some to motor
over to the lake, the others amusing themselves as they saw fit. Both
Coolidge and Natalie vanished, while West, finding himself alone, chose a
book from the library, and, solaced by a cigar, sought a shady nook on
the porch.

The book, however, was but a mark for his thoughts, which continually
revolved about the strange surroundings in which he found himself. He was
apparently making no progress, was no nearer a solution of the mystery
confronting him. Thus far, at least, no direct clue had presented itself.
Numerous things had occurred to strengthen suspicion, and to increase
interest in the quest. But beyond this--nothing. He liked the girl and
was completely enlisted in her service. He disliked Percival, and was
convinced the fellow was planning evil. Several incidents had already
strengthened this belief; yet there was nothing positive upon which to
build; no path of adventure for him to follow. To speculate was easy
enough, but real facts eluded him.

Yet, in spite of this feeling of failure, West's reflections centred more
upon the young woman than upon the particular problem which he had to
solve. The ride back from the city had revealed a phase of her character
he had never observed before--she had shown herself vivacious, light of
speech, a bit slangy and audacious. He was not altogether sure that this