"I understand," I said. "They could all speak for you--but you couldn't speak for them." Then I opened and looked. Some list! The social and financial elect of Santa Ysobel: bankers' ladies; prune kings' daughters; persons you couldn't doubt, or buy. But at the top of all was Laura Bowman's name. We had halted for the turn at the end of the court. I held the paper before her. "How about this one? Do you think she was in the room all the time? Or have you any recollection?" The bride moved a little closer and spoke low. "Laura and the doctor were in the middle of one of their grand rows. She's a bunch of temperament. Mamma was ill; the girls were having to start out with only Laura for chaperone; she said something about going somewhere, and it wouldn't take her long--she'd be back in plenty of time. But whether she went or not--Mr. Boyne, you don't want us to tell you our speculations and guesses? That wouldn't be fair, would it?" "It wouldn't hurt anything," I countered. "I'll only make use of what can be proven. Anything you say is safe with me." "Well, then, of course you know all about the situation between Laura and Jim Edwards. Laura was determined she wouldn't go up to San Francisco with her husband--or if she did, he must drive her back the same night. She wouldn't even leave our house to get her things from home; the doctor, poor man, packed some sort of bag for her and brought it over. When he came back with it, she wasn't to be found; and she never did appear until we were getting into the machine." I listened, glancing anxiously toward the skyline of that little hill over which Worth and Barbara might be expected to appear almost any moment now. Then we made the turn at the end of the court, and my view of it was cut off. "Laura and Jim--they're the ones this is going to be hard on. I do feel sorry for them. She's always been a problem to her family and friends. A great deal's been overlooked. Everybody likes Jim; but--he's a southerner; intrigue comes natural to them." Five minutes before I had been listening to Edwards' pitiful defense of this girl; I recalled his "scouting" for a chance to get her home unseen and save her standing with her family. That could be classed as intrigue, too, I suppose. We were strolling slowly toward the clubhouse. "I don't give Dr. Bowman much," I said deliberately. A quick look came my way, and, "Mr. Gilbert was greatly attached to him. Everybody's always believed that only Mr. Gilbert's influence held that match together. Now he's dead, and Laura's freed from some sort of control he seemed to have over her, of course she hopes and expects she'll be able to divorce the doctor in peace and marry Jim." "No movement of the sort yet?" She stopped and faced round toward me.