"Well, if it wasn't there yesterday, it is at least there to-day!" argued Paul Brenswick. "Rollins! Hi there--Rollins!" they both called as though in a single breath. From his humble seat on the top stair to which he had wisely retreated at his first inkling of having so grossly outraged public opinion, Rollins's reply came wafting some what hopefully back. "H--h--iii," rallied Rollins. "That red roof on the rocks--" shouted Paul Brenswick. "Was it there--yesterday?" demanded George Keets. "Wait!" cackled Rollins. "Wait till I go look!" A felt footstep thudded. A window opened. The felt footstep thudded again. "No," called Rollins. "Now that I come to think of it--I don't remember having noticed a red roof there yesterday." "Now!" laughed George Keets. "But, oh, I say!" gasped Rollins, in what seemed to be very sudden and altogether indisputable confusion. "Why--why it must have been there! Because that's the shack where we've catalogued the shells every year--for the last seven years!" "Now!" laughed Paul Brenswick. Without another word everybody made a bolt for the hat-rack and the big oak settle, snatched up his or her oil-skin clothes--anybody's oil-skin clothes--and dashed off through the rain to the edge of the cliff to investigate the phenomenon at closer range. Truly the thing was almost too easy to be really righteous! Just a huge rock-colored tarpaulin stripped at will from a red-tiled roof and behold, mystery looms on an otherwise drab-colored day! And a mystery at a houseparty? Well--whoever may stand proven as the mother of invention--_Curiosity_, you know just as well as I do, is the father of a great many very sprightly little adventures! Within ten minutes from the proscenium box of our big bay-window, my Husband and I could easily discern the absurd little plot and counterplots that were already being hatched. It was the Bride and George Keets who seemed to be thinking, pointing, gesticulating, in the only perfect harmony. Even at this distance, and swathed as they were in hastily adjusted oil-skins, a curiously academic sort of dignity stamped their every movement. Nothing but sheer intellectual determination to prove that their minds were normal would ever tempt either one of them to violate a Host's "No Trespass" sign! Nothing academic about Paul Brenswick's figure! With one yellow elbow crooked to shield the rain from his eyes he stood estimating so many probable feet of this, so many probable feet of that. He was an engineer! Perspectives were his playthings! And if there was any new trick about perspectives that he didn't know--he was going to solve it now no matter what it cost either him or anybody else!