Dinner that night was singularly free from conversation. Nobody present felt inclined to be chatty. John Parker was wondering what Miguel Farrel's next move would be, and was formulating means to checkmate it; Kay, knowing what Don Mike's next move would be and knowing further that she was about to checkmate it, was silent through a sense of guilt; Mrs. Parker's eight miles in the saddle that afternoon had fatigued her to the point of dissipating her buoyant spirits, and Farrel had fallen into a mood of deep abstraction. "Are we to listen to naught but the champing of food?" Mrs. Parker inquired presently. "Hello!" her husband declared. "So you've come up for air, eh, Katie?" "Oh, I'm feeling far from chatty, John. But the silence is oppressive. Miguel, are you plotting against the whites?" He looked up with a smiling nod. "I'm making big medicine, Mrs. Parker. So big, in fact," he continued, as he folded his napkin and thrust it carefully into the ring, "that I am going to ask your permission to withdraw. I have been very remiss in my social duties. I have been home twenty-four hours and I have passed the Mission de la Madre Dolorosa three times, yet I have not been inside to pay my respects to my old friends there. I shall be in disgrace if I fail to call this evening for Father Dominic's blessing. They'll be wondering why I neglect them." "How do you know they know you're home?" Parker demanded, suspiciously. He was wondering if Don Miguel's excuse to leave the table might have some connection with Bill Conway and the impending imbroglio. "Brother Flavio told me so to-night. As we rode down the valley he was ringing the Angelus; and after the Angelus he played on the chimes, 'I'm Nearer Home To-day.' May I be excused, Mrs. Parker?" "By all means, Michael." "Thank you." He included them all in a courteous nod of farewell. They heard the patio gate close behind him. "I wish I dared follow him," Parker observed. "I wonder if he really is going down to the Mission. I think I'll make certain." He left the room, went out to the patio gate, opened it slightly and peered out. His host's tall form, indistinct in the moonlight, was disappearing toward the palm-lined avenue, so Parker, satisfied that Don Mike had embarked upon the three-mile walk to the Mission, returned to the dining-room. "Well, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" Kay queried. "I think he's headed for the Mission, after all, Kay." "I never doubted it." "Why?" "Because he wouldn't tell a trifling lie to deceive when there was no necessity for deceiving. His plans are fully matured and he will not act until morning. In that three-mile walk to the Mission he will perfect the details of his plan of attack." "Then he is planning?--but you said his plans are fully matured. How do you know, Kay?"