“The shortest way to the house,” called the girl, over her shoulder, “is the way I’m going now.”

“But, Miss Standish!” he protested.  “Please—­”

She did not answer.  As he had bent to pat the collie, she had broken into a run, and now she was half way across the lawn, on her way to the lighted veranda.  Vexed at her disobedience is not taking his advice and absenting herself from impending trouble, Gavin Brice followed.  Bobby Burns gamboled along at his side, leaping high in the air in an effort to lick Brice’s face, setting the night astir with a fanfare of joyous barking, imperiling Gavin’s every step with his whisking body, and in short conducting himself as does the average high-strung collie whose master breaks into a run.

The noise brought a man out of the hallway onto the veranda, to see the cause of the racket.  He was tall, massive, clad in snowy white, and with a golden beard that shone in the lamplight.  Milo Standish, as he stood thus, under the glow of the veranda lights, was splendid target for any skulking marksman.  Claire seemed to divine this.  For, before her astonished brother could speak, she called to him: 

“Go indoors!  Quickly, please!”

Bewildered at the odd command, yet impressed with its stark earnestness, Milo took a wondering step backward, toward the open doorway.  Then, at sight of the running man, just behind his sister, he paused.  Claire’s lips were parted, to repeat her strange order, as she came up the porch steps, but Gavin, following her, called reassuringly: 

“Don’t worry, Miss Standish.  They don’t use guns.  They’re knifers.  The conchs have a holy horror of firearms.  Besides, a shot might bring the road patrol.  He’s perfectly safe.”

As Gavin followed her up the steps and the full light of the lamps fell on his face, Milo Standish stared stupidly at him, in blank dismay.  Then, over his bearded face, came a look of sharp annoyance.

“It’s all right, Mr. Standish,” said Gavin, reading his thoughts as readily as spoken words.  “Don’t be sore at Roke.  He didn’t let me get away.  He did his best to keep me.  And my coming back isn’t as unlucky for you as it seems.  If the snakes had gotten me, there’s a Secret Service chap over there who would have had an interesting report to make.  And you’d have joined Hade and Roke in a murder trial.  So, you see, things might be worse.”

He spoke in his wonted lazily pleasant drawl, and with no trace of excitement.  Yet he was studying the big man in front of him, with covert closeness.  And the wholly uncomprehending aspect of Milo’s face, at mention of the snakes and the possible murder charge, completed Brice’s faith in Standish’s innocence of the trick’s worst features.

Claire had seized her brother’s hand and was drawing the dumfounded Milo after her into the hallway.  And as she went she burst forth vehemently into the story of Brice’s afternoon adventures.  Her words fairly fell over one another, in her indignant eagerness.  Yet she spoke wellnigh as concisely as had Gavin when he had recounted the tale to her.