“It hasn’t even appeared in the newspapers,” said Dick, “unless it was splashed in _The Frog Gazette_—probably on the personality page.” He inclined his head toward the girl. Ray, for the moment, he would have ignored if the young man had not taken a step toward him. “Do you want anything, Gordon?” he asked. “I want a private talk with you, Bennett,” said Dick. “There’s nothing you can’t say before my friends,” said Ray, his ready temper rising. “The only person I recognize by that title is your sister,” replied Gordon. “Let us go, Lew,” said Lola with a shrug, but Ray Bennett stopped them. “Wait a minute! Is this my house, or isn’t it?” he demanded furiously. “You can clear out, Gordon! I’ve had just about as much of your interference as I want. You push your way in here, you’re offensive to my friends—you practically tell them to get out—I like your nerve! There’s the door—you can go.” “I’ll go if you feel that way,” said Dick, “but I want to warn you——” “Pshaw! I’m sick of your warnings.” “I want to warn you that the Frog has decided that you’ve got to earn your money! That is all.” There was a dead silence, which Ella broke. “The Frog?” she repeated, open-eyed. “But . . . but, Mr. Gordon, Ray isn’t . . . with the Frogs?” “Perhaps it will be news to him—but he is,” said Dick. “These two people are faithful servants of the reptile,” he pointed. “Lola is financed by him—her husband is financed by him——” “You’re a liar!” screamed Ray. “Lola isn’t married! You’re a sneaking liar—get out before I throw you out! You poor Frog-chaser—you think everything that’s green lives in a pond! Get out and stay out!” It was Ella’s appealing glance that made Dick Gordon walk to the door. Turning, his cold gaze rested on Lew Brady. “There is a big question-mark against your name in the Frog-book, Brady. You watch out!” Lew shrank under the blow, for blow it was. Had he dared, he would have followed Gordon into the corridor and sought further information. But here his moral courage failed him, and he stood, a pathetic figure, looking wistfully at the door that the visitor had closed behind him. “For God’s sake let us get some air in the room!” snarled Ray, thrusting open the windows. “That fellow is a pestilence! Married! Trying to get me to believe that!” Ella had taken up her handbag from the sideboard where she had placed it. “Going, Ella?” She nodded. “Tell father . . . I’ll write anyway. Talk to him, Ella, and show him where he was wrong.” She held out her hand. “Good-bye, Ray,” she said. “Perhaps one day you will come back to us. Please God this madness will end soon. Oh, Ray, it isn’t true about the Frogs, is it? You aren’t with those people?” His laugh reassured her for the moment. “Of course I’m not—it’s about as true as the yarn that Lola is married! Gordon was trying to make a sensation; that’s the worst of these third-rate detectives, they live on sensation.”