Green Fancy

At twelve-thirty sharp, Barnes came down from his room freshly shaved and brushed, to find not only Mr. Rushcroft and Miss Thackeray awaiting him in the office, but the Messrs. Dillingford and Bacon as well. Putnam Jones, gloomy and preoccupied behind the counter, allowed his eyes to brighten a little as the latest guest of the house approached the group.

"I've given all of 'em an hour or two off," he said genially. "Do what you like to 'em."

Rushcroft expanded. "My good man, what the devil do you mean by a remark like that? Remember--"

"Never mind, dad," said Miss Thackeray, lifting her chin haughtily. "Forgive us our trespassers as we forgive our trespasses. And remember, also, that poor, dear Mr. Jones is all out of sorts to-day. He is all keyed up over the notoriety his house is going to achieve before the government gets through annoying him."

"See here, Miss," began Mr. Jones, threateningly, and then, overcome by his Yankee shrewdness, stopped as suddenly as he started. "Go on in and have your dinner. Don't mind me. I am out of sorts." He was smart enough to realise that it was wiser to have the good rather than the ill-will of these people. He dreaded the inquiry that was imminent.

"That's better," mumbled Mr. Rushcroft, partially mollified. "I took the liberty, old fellow," he went on, addressing Barnes, "of asking my excellent co-workers to join us in our repast. In all my career I have not known more capable, intelligent players than these--"

"Delighted to have you with us, gentlemen," said Barnes affably. "In fact, I was going to ask Mr. Rushcroft if he had the slightest objection to including you--"

"Oh, the row's all over," broke in Mr. Dillingford magnanimously. "It didn't amount to anything. I'm sure if Mr. Rushcroft doesn't object to us, we don't object to him."

"Peace reigns throughout the land," said Mr. Bacon, in his deepest bass. "Precede us, my dear Miss Thackeray."

The sole topic of conversation for the first half hour was the mysterious slaying of their fellow lodgers. Mr. Rushcroft complained bitterly of the outrageous, high-handed action of the coroner and sheriff in imposing upon him and his company the same restrictions that had been applied to Barnes. They were not to leave the county until the authorities gave the word. One would have thought, to hear the star's indignant lamentations, that he and his party were in a position to depart when they pleased. It would have been difficult to imagine that he was not actually rolling in money instead of being absolutely penniless.

"What were these confounded rascals to me?" he demanded, scowling at Miss Tilly as if she were solely to blame for his misfortune. "Why should I be held up in this God-forsaken place because a couple of scoundrels got their just deserts? Why, I repeat? I'd--"