AND STILL Dick's important work refused to progress. His mind seemed to be absolutely out of commission for anything excepting the reviewing and revolving of the story of his neighbor and his promise to Bert Sands. The Hawaiian girl's life was tragic, the mystery of the disappearance of Jean Walters was also tragic; though the mystery seemed to resolve itself into the mere question of the whereabouts of the girl's body; for there could be little doubt that she had done away with herself somewhere among the gorges of those dark blue-green mountains. But was it likely that the Hawaiian girl knew anything about it more than had been discovered at the time of the disappearance? Still, he could understand that an interview with her might do something toward softening Mrs. Walter's grief, if only because the woman had been nursing the idea that it was something to be desired. Naturally the girl would dread such an interview with a woman from whose home she had been incontinently barred throughout her intimacy with the woman's daughter. Not that she would ever
