"Well, you see," explained Forrester, "I have a detective stationed out there on the lawn. He is not supposed to allow anyone to slip in like that." "He has probably dropped off to sleep," laughed Prentice. "Or perhaps, recognizing me, did not think it necessary to interfere. Are your folks at the dance tonight, Bob?" "Yes, and I’m a little surprised that you are not there." "A man of my age, Bob, gets surfeited with such affairs. My wife and daughter are there, however, and I promised to run up with the car and bring them home. In passing, it occurred to me that you might like to go along for the ride on such a warm night. It will give me an opportunity to chat with you, too. You know it has been a long time since we had a confidential talk over things." "I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Prentice, but I had rather not go. I had quite a battle with Josephine over staying at home. If she found that I had actually come as far as the door after all, there would be high jinks. You know, I seem to be settling down terribly lately." "You’ve taken too large and unaccustomed a burden on your shoulders, Bob. Better drop that ’Friends of the Poor’ matter. Even the police are not getting anywhere." "I would not have believed a few weeks ago that criminals could go so far without detection," said Forrester. Prentice glanced around as though he feared being overheard. Then he addressed Forrester in a low tone. "I’ve changed my mind about the criminal side of this money drive. I am inclined to believe that it is something more—something of world-wide significance." Then added, in a louder voice, "Well, I must be going on. Good-night, Bob," and he passed out of the window. Forrester listened to his steps fade away along the terrace and then sat pondering over Green’s noninterference with Prentice’s approach. It was unusual and peculiar. If the detective were getting careless he was of no further use. Happily, in this instance, it had been only Prentice, but might not one of his enemies come in on him just as easily? Forrester jumped up and strode across the lawn to the pergola. "Green!" he called, sharply. The breeze whispering through the leaves and the splash of tiny wavelets on the beach below were the only sounds Forrester heard. He stepped into the pergola and struck a match. Green was in his chair, but huddled down in a loose and helpless bundle. Forrester shook him without result, though the man’s labored breathing showed that he was not dead. "My God!" cried Forrester. "I believe he has been attacked with the death mask!"