The chauffeur was an obliging chap, especially as it cost him nothing to earn a substantial tip with his master’s car.  However, we were glad enough to ride in anything on wheels, and not over-particular at that hour about the ownership.

“Mr. Whitney hasn’t been out here much lately,” he volunteered as he sped along the beautiful oiled road, and the lights cast shadows on the trees that made driving as easy as in daylight.

“No, he has been very busy,” returned Craig glad to turn to account the opportunity to talk with a chauffeur, for it is the chauffeur in the country who is the purveyor of all knowledge and gossip.

“His car passed us when I was driving up from the city.  My boss won’t let me speed or I wouldn’t have taken his dust.  Gee, but he does wear out the engines in his cars, Whitney.”

“Was he alone?” asked Craig.

“Yes—­and then I saw him driving back again when I went down, to the station for some new shoes we had expressed up.  Just a flying trip, I guess—­or does he expect you?”

“I don’t think he does,” returned Craig truthfully.

“I saw a couple of other cars go up there.  House party?”

“Maybe you’d call it that,” returned Craig with a twinkle of the eye.  “Did you see any ladies?”

“No,” returned the chauffeur.  “Just a man driving his own car and another with a driver.”

“There wasn’t a lady with Mr. Whitney?” asked Craig, now rather anxious.

“Neither time.”

I saw what he was driving at.  The Senora might have got up there in any fashion without being noticed.  But for Inez not to be with Whitney, nor with the two who must evidently have been Lockwood and Alfonso, was indeed strange.  Could it be that we were only half right—­that they had gathered here but that Inez had really disappeared?

The young man set us down at Smith’s Corner and it proved to be only about an eighth of a mile up the road and up-hill when Whitney’s house burst in sight, silhouetted against the sky.

There were lights there and it was evident that several people had gathered for some purpose.

We made our way up the path and paused a moment to look through the window before springing the little surprise.  There we could see Lockwood, Alfonso, and Senora de Moche, who had arrived, after all and probably been met at the station by her son.  They seemed like anything but a happy party.  Never on the best of terms, they could not be expected to be happy.  But now, if ever, one would have thought they might do more than tolerate each other, assuming that some common purpose had brought them here.

Kennedy rang the bell and we could see that all looked surprised, for they had heard no car approach.  A servant opened the door and before he knew it, Kennedy had pushed past him, taking no chances at a rebuff after the experience over the wire.

“Kennedy!” exclaimed Lockwood and Alfonso together.