“Wait here,” he said, rising hurriedly.  “I must send my motor-boat out there to pick her up and tow her in.”

He was gone down the flight of rustic steps on the face of the cliff before we could reply.

“I wish father wouldn’t take it to heart so,” murmured Gladys.  “Sometimes I fear that success or failure of this boat means life or death to him.”

“That is exactly why we are here,” reassured Kennedy, turning earnestly to her, “to help him to settle this thing at once.  This is a beautiful spot,” he added, as we stood on the edge of the cliff and looked far out over the tossing waves of the sound.

“What is on that other point?” asked Kennedy, turning again toward the harbour itself.

“There is a large cottage colony there,” she replied.  “Of course many of the houses are still closed so early in the season, but it is a beautiful place in the summer.  The hotel over there is open now, though.”

“You must have a lively time when the season is at its height,” ventured Kennedy.  “Do you know a cottager there, a Mrs. Brainard?”

“Oh, yes, indeed.  I have known her in Washington for some time.”

“No doubt the cottagers envy you your isolation here,” remarked Kennedy, turning and surveying the beautifully kept grounds.  “I should think it would be pleasant, too, to have an old Washington friend here.”

“It is.  We often invite our friends over for lawn-parties and other little entertainments.  Mrs. Brainard has just arrived and has only had time to return my first visit to her, but I expect we shall have some good times this summer.”

It was evident, at least, that Gladys was not concealing anything about her friend, whether there was any suspicion or not of her.

We had gone into the house to await the return of Captain Shirley.  Burke had just returned, his face betraying that he was bursting with news.

“She’s here, all right,” he remarked in an undertone to Kennedy, “in the Stamford cottage—­quite an outfit.  French chauffeur, two Japanese servants, maids, and all.”

“The Stamford cottage?” repeated Gladys.  “Why, that is where Mrs. Brainard lives.”

She gave a startled glance at Kennedy, as she suddenly seemed to realise that both he and the secret-service man had spoken about her friend.

“Yes,” said Burke, noting on the instant the perfect innocence of her concern.  “What do you know about Mrs. Brainard?  Who, where is, Mr. Brainard?”

“Dead, I believe,” Gladys hesitated.  “Mrs. Brainard has been well known in Washington circles for years.  Indeed, I invited her with us the night of the Manila display.”

“And Mr. Nordheim?” broke in Burke.

“N-no,” she hesitated.  “He was there, but I don’t know as whose guest.”

“Did he seem very friendly with.  Mrs. Brainard?” pursued the detective.

I thought I saw a shade of relief pass over her face as she answered, “Yes.”  I could only interpret it that perhaps Nordheim had been attentive to Gladys herself and that she had not welcomed his attentions.