“Two men drinking too much and then a fight, and before anybody knew, murder! If there hadn’t been a brass candlestick near Jim Dallas’ hand it would never have happened. Honest to God, Mr. Shine, there was nothing evil in that young man. But the Parkinson family are camped on his trail. The evil’s in them, if you ask me, with their rewards and detectives.” “I wonder if she knows where he is.” “I guess there’s more than one wondering that,” the lady murmured. “Terribly hard position for her if she does know--or if she doesn’t.” Shine looked at the page’s figure on the rock. She carried the thing stamped on her face. He had noticed it particularly where he had taken the photographs of her in the living-room. They were time exposures with his small camera, attempts to catch her fragile prettiness in artistic combinations of light and shade. Once or twice the mask had been dropped and he had seen the drooping lines, the weariness, and something like fear on the delicate features. For a space they smoked in silence. Round the corner of the house the tall figure of Stokes strolled into view. He looked at the seated girls, then turned and glanced behind him with a quick and furtive sweep of the eyes. At the sight of them he nodded, walked down to the wharf and dropped on a bench. Shine lowered his voice: “What’s the matter with him?” Mrs. Cornell met his eyes; her own were narrowed and sharp. “What makes you think anything is?” “His whole make-up--something’s wearing on him.” She blew out a long shoot of smoke and, watching it, murmured: “Yes, it’s out on him like a rash. He oughtn’t to have come, but the first man they had, Sylvanus Grey, took sick and Mr. Walberg engaged Stokes in a hurry and sent him up. It’s spoiled everything for the rest of us. He’s crazy about Sybil if you want to know what’s the matter with him.” “Oh!” It came with an understanding inflection, the haggard glances rising on Shine’s memory. “Can’t hide it, doesn’t want to hide it. There’s no shame in him, tracking after the girl. And it’s not as if he got any encouragement. She can’t bear him; that’s why she has Anne Tracy out there, afraid if she sits alone five minutes he’ll come loping up. You’d think if he didn’t have any pride he’d have some feeling for his wife. She’s half crazy with jealousy, burning up with it. These purple passions are all right in books, Mr. Shine, but believe me they’re not comfortable to live with.” “I felt it.” “I guess you would, it’s in the air. All of us cooped up in this place where you can’t get off. I thought it was going to be such a nice restful change. But lord! It’s about as restful as camping on the side of Vesuvius. Sybil and Joe Tracy ready to fight at the drop of the hat and Flora going round in circles and Stokes like one of those fireworks that starts sputtering and you don’t know whether they’re going to explode or die on you. I tell you I’ll be glad when we get out of here to-morrow morning.”