John was still reluctant to believe Gibson's moves were as sinister as Brennan viewed them. There were times when, under Brennan's logic, he began to doubt Gibson's sincerity. Then Gibson disappeared. For three days he was absent from his office. Brennan and John sought him at his home, his club, without success. "He's up to something," predicted Brennan. "There'll be a story popping when he shows up again." * * * * * It was Saturday morning when John received a note from Consuello inviting him to spend Sunday afternoon and evening at the ranch home of her father and mother. "I am keeping my promise," she wrote. "Would you care to visit with me at the home of my father and mother, Sunday? It is such a delightfully interesting old place. I'm certain you will enjoy it. "If you find yourself able to accept this invitation let me know by telephone and we will arrange for me to pick you up when I drive out early in the afternoon. I do hope you can come." It was signed, "Sincerely, Consuello Carrillo." He found her telephone number listed beside her name. The fact that she resided in Los Angeles while her parents apparently lived out of the city puzzled him. "Town house and old country home," he said to himself as he picked up the telephone to call her. "Oh, I'm so glad you can go with me," she said. "I have a car. Shall I call for you at two? Or shall I meet you somewhere else you may suggest?" He thought of the commotion it would cause in the neighborhood of his home to have her call for him there. "Could I possibly meet you at Seventh and Broadway?" he asked, fearing that such a request might be considered extraordinary. "Seventh and Broadway at two, then," she said. A liveried chauffeur was at the wheel of the big touring car in which she met him. It frightened him somewhat to think that such wealth was hers. Curiously, he was relieved when she said: "A friend is so kind as to place this car at my disposal every Sunday, so I may make my week-end visits home in comfort." Instinctively John felt that it was Gibson's machine. As the automobile glided through the city traffic and out to the smooth boulevards of the open country they spoke of Gibson's mysterious absence during the past few days. "He told me that business, something very important, called him away," she said. "He promised he would be back some time this week. I suppose whatever has taken him away has to do with his work as a commissioner." She wore the same quaintly beautiful white frock that John had so admired when he first saw her at the lawn fete at the Barton Randolph home. He saw that her eyes and hair were brown, her lips a coral red, her skin faintly tinted olive. Her features were small and delicately formed. Her feet were positively tiny and he marveled at the natural curve of the high instep. "Tell me," she said, "what do people think of Mr. Gibson as a commissioner?"