of his hopes of amity with Mrs. Malua and any influence which he might exert toward inducing her to see the mother of Jean Walters.
He got into his car and drove down to town to talk it over with Bert Sands; but she and her husband were out on some sort of a hike of exploration, and so he dined in town and drove back up the mountain in anything but a happy frame of mind.
The next morning was no better. Work was impossible, since his mind persisted in continually revolving and rehearsing the events of the past few days and in trying to fit some reasonable and logical hypothesis to account for the designs of his yesterday's guests. Nevertheless, from mere force of habit, he sat before his typewriter, rolling cigarettes and thinking and puzzling as he looked off across the valley at the steep ridge opposite, with its ledges of rock and its clambering green vines, ti plants and wild mango and kukui trees. The top of the ridge was fairly clear of tall growth, but there were no houses high up on that side of the valley, and probably no trails, as he had never seen the movement of any living thing upon it.
However, as his eyes rested there idly this morning he, for the first time, saw moving forms making their way along from the direction of the distant slope toward the town. He watched them indolently, wondering what should have taken people to that isolated ridge and how they got up there, to
