He saw him later, though, at the pool, when the tennis was over. Everybody went in then, including Punch himself. Judy, with a cane, and a good big bandage showing through her stocking, came down to watch the sport. She gave so good an imitation of a girl with a damaged ankle that Punch found himself wondering whether perhaps it hadn’t been true that she’d slipped on the rug. And certainly there seemed to be nothing now the matter with her spirits. He was heavily at a discount with himself as a detective when he went into the house to dress for dinner. This didn’t take him long--all his movements are singularly neat and swift--and he was the first person to come down from the top floor. His grandmother’s door was open now and when he paused there a moment she called to him to come in. She was dressed for dinner and all ready for her ride down in the elevator. She struck him, just as she had on her first appearance the day before, as being rather unusually bright-looking somehow. And again almost unnaturally amiable. “How about it, Punch?” she asked. “Shall we give your sister something to make up to her for her bad ankle? Nobody will look at her ankles if she has the pearls around her neck. Why shouldn’t she wear them to-night? Give that bridegroom of hers a treat. Let him see what he’s going to get.” Punch was moved to protest. “I sort of don’t think she’d want to wear them to-night,” he said. “It’s nearly two whole days before the wedding.” “Go and call her,” his grandmother commanded, starting to wheel herself over to the safe. “No, don’t stop to help me. I don’t need it. Go tell your sister as soon as she’s dressed to come to me.” Punch went on the errand a little reluctantly, and gave the message to Judy through the door. He meant to dart back to his grandmother’s room in time to see her open the safe. He was curious as to whether this time it was locked or not. But Judy detained him. “I’ll go now,” she said. “I’m dressed all but my dress, and I don’t want to put that on till it’s time to go down to dinner. Come in here a minute.” She was putting on, as he entered the room, some sort of kimono-like garment of orange-colored silk. But she arrested the action to laugh at the sight of him. “You look so nice and innocent, with your hair brushed,” she explained, and having her arms in her sleeves by this time, she came over and hugged him. “Oh, Punch, you’re a dear,” she cried. “You made an instantaneous hit this afternoon. Do you know that?” It wasn’t the caress that made him uncomfortable, nor yet the compliment. It was the sort of wildness there was about her look. “I don’t know what’s going to happen,” she went on, still holding him by the shoulders and looking at him very intently. “I don’t know that it matters--much--what does. Only--you haven’t forgotten what you said this afternoon? You’re on my side, you know.” He told her that he was and that he hadn’t forgotten.