Evan smiled complacently. “I fancied you could not do otherwise,” he said. “Perhaps you will be further convinced if I tell you I am quite certain I recognized the voice which gave the message.” “Are you sure? Who was it?” “I am certain in my own mind, but I could not take my oath in a court of law.... I believe the voice was that of the little hunchback known locally as Peewee Bangs.” “The proprietor of the Lakeside Hotel?” Evan nodded. “What is this Lakeside Hotel?” Carmel asked. “I’ve heard it mentioned, and somehow I’ve gotten the idea that it was--peculiar.” Tubal interjected an answer before Evan Pell could speak. “It’s a good place for sich as you be to keep away from. Folks drives out there in automobiles from the big town twenty-thirty mile off, and has high jinks. Before prohibition come in folks said Peewee run a blind pig.” “He seems very friendly with the local politicians.” “Huh!” snorted Tubal. “I don’t understand Gibeon,” Carmel said. “Of course I haven’t been here long enough to know it and to know the people, but there’s something about it which seems different from other little towns I’ve known. The people look the same and talk the same. There are the same churches and lodges and the reading club and its auxiliaries, and I suppose there is the woman’s club which is exclusive, and all that. But, somehow, those things, the normal life of the place, affect me as being all on the surface, with something secret going on underneath.... If there is anything hidden, it must be hidden from most of the people, too. The folks must be decent, honest, hardworking. Whatever it is, they don’t know.” “What gives you such an idea?” Evan Pell asked, with interest. “It’s a feeling--instinct, maybe. Possibly it’s because I’m trying to find something, and imagine it all. Maybe I’ve magnified little, inconsequential things.” “What has all this to do with Abner Fownes?” “Why--nothing. He seems to be a rather typical small-town magnate. He’s egotistical, bumptious, small-minded. He loves importance--and he’s rich. The professional politicians know him and his weaknesses and use him. He’s a figurehead--so far as actual things go, with a lot of petty power which he loves to exercise.... He’s a bubble, and, oh, how I’d love to prick him!” Evan bowed to her with ironical deference. “Remarkable,” he said. “A clean-cut, searching analysis. Doubtless correct. You have been studying him cursorily for a matter of days, but you comprehend him to the innermost workings of his mind.... I, a trained observer, have watched and scrutinized Abner Fownes for a year--and have not yet reached a conclusion. May I compliment you, Miss Lee?” Carmel’s eyes snapped. “You may,” she said, and then closed her lips determinedly. “You were going to say?” Evan asked, in his most irritating, pedagogical tone.