"You, again," observed Charity resignedly as Sam Two was summoned and sent away again draped with wet coats and drenched hats. "Man"--Holmes argued with Satan for the possession of the hearth-stone--"when it rains in this country, it rains. A branch of your creek down there is almost over the road--" "Bayou, not creek," corrected Charity acidly. Lately she had shown a marked preference for Holmes' absence rather than his company. "I stand corrected," he laughed; "a branch of your bayou." "If you found it so unpleasant, why did you--" began Charity, and then she flushed as if she had suddenly realized that that speech was too rude even for her recent attitude. "Why did we come?" Holmes' crooked eyebrow slid upward as his face registered mock reproof. "My, my, what a warm welcome, my dear." He shook his head and Charity laughed in spite of herself. "Don't mind my bearishness," she made half apology. "You know what pleasant moods I fall into while working. And this rain is depressing." "But Miss Biglow is right." Creighton smiled his rare, shy smile. Brusque and impatient as he was when on business bent, he was awkwardly uncomfortable in ordinary company. The man, Val sometimes thought privately, lived, ate, slept books. Save when they were the subject of conversation, he was as out of his element as a coal-miner at the ballet. "We should explain the reason for this--this rather abrupt call." He fingered his brief-case, which he still clutched, nervously. "Down to business already." Holmes seated himself on the arm of Ricky's chair. "Very well, out with it." Creighton smiled again, laid the case across his knees, and looked straight at Ricky. For some reason he talked to her, as if she above all others must be firmly convinced of the importance of his mission. "It is a very queer story, Miss Ralestone, a very queer--" "Said the mariner to the wedding guest." Holmes snapped his fingers at Satan, who contemptuously ignored him. "Or am I thinking of the Whiting who talked to the Snail?" "Perhaps I had better begin at the beginning," continued Creighton, frowning at Holmes who refused to be so suppressed. "Why be so dramatic about it, old man? It's very simple, Miss Ricky. Creighton has lost an author and he wants you to help find him." When Ricky's eyes involuntarily swept about the room, Val joined in the laughter. "No, it isn't as easy as all that, I'm afraid." Creighton had lost his nervous shyness. "But what Holmes says is true. I have lost an author and do hope that you can help me locate the missing gentleman--or lady. Two months ago an agent sent a manuscript to our office for reading. It wasn't complete, but he thought it was well worth our attention. It was.