“Plainly speaking, this liaison is their business,” he declared.  “Because he is yellow and she is white doesn’t make it ours.  I’ve just had a hunch.  And I believe in following hunches, especially when one hits you good and hard, and this one has given me a jolt that means something.  Where is that big fat brother of hers?”

McDowell hesitated.  “It isn’t a liaison,” he temporized.  “It’s one-sided—­a crime against—­”

“Where is that big fat brother?” With each word Keith emphasized his demand with a thud of his fist on the table.  “Where is he?”

McDowell was deeply perturbed.  Keith could see it and waited.

After a moment of silence the iron man rose from the swivel chair, walked to the window, gazed out for another moment, and walked back again, twisting one of his big gray mustaches in a way that betrayed the stress of his emotion.  “Confound it, Conniston, you’ve got a mind for seeking out the trivialities, and little things are sometimes the most embarrassing.”

“And sometimes most important,” added Keith.  “For instance, it strikes me as mighty important that we should know where Peter Kirkstone is and why he is not here fighting for his sister’s salvation.  Where is he?”

“I don’t know.  He disappeared from town a month ago.  Miriam says he is somewhere in British Columbia looking over some old mining properties.  She doesn’t know just where.”

“And you believe her?”

The eyes of the two men met.  There was no longer excuse for equivocation.  Both understood.

McDowell smiled in recognition of the fact.  “No.  I think, Conniston, that she is the most wonderful little liar that lives.  And the beautiful part of it is, she is lying for a purpose.  Imagine Peter Kirkstone, who isn’t worth the powder to blow him to Hades, interested in old mines or anything else that promises industry or production!  And the most inconceivable thing about the whole mess is that Miriam worships that fat and worthless pig of a brother.  I’ve tried to find him in British Columbia.  Failed, of course.  Another proof that this affair between Miriam and Shan Tung isn’t a voluntary liaison on her part.  She’s lying.  She’s walking on a pavement of lies.  If she told the truth—­”

“There are some truths which one cannot tell about oneself,” interrupted Keith.  “They must be discovered or buried.  And I’m going deeper into this prospecting and undertaking business this afternoon.  I’ve got another hunch.  I think I’ll have something interesting to report before night.”