over and over; "She said there were no mynah birds, and there was one. There was one." His mind seemed unable to take up any other thought, but only revolved around and around that one idea, the relating facts keeping up but a vague undercurrent. Carter McKnight had been up the mountain that morning, had hung around his house until the fire,—a fire occurring in Evalani's home—probably of his setting—and then, when they were all working to put out the fire, the baby had disappeared and the man also was gone. But overtopping and transcending all else was the fact of the unwonted mynah bird at Kat Morton's home, the one whose voice had reminded him of Evalani's baby. That was the clue, and thank God for that much of a clue;—and as soon as he reached town he headed for Nuuanu Avenue and spun out the smooth road toward the Morton home.
When he reached the place, he swerved the car into the driveway and around the curve of the lawn and up to the lanai, springing out almost before it had come to a stop, and dashed up the steps and to the bell.
The front door was closed now, instead of being only screened, as it had been, and it was some moments before it was opened by the little Japanese maid. In answer to his demand to see Miss Morton, the maid shook her head and smiled. "Missi Morton go 'way," she said.
