Barnes?" cut in De Soto, frowning.
"No guest arrived at Green Fancy last evening, nor was one expected."
Barnes stared. "Do you mean to say that she didn't get there, after
all?"
"She? A woman, was it?" demanded O'Dowd. "Bedad, if she said she was
coming to Green Fancy she was spoofing you. Are you sure it was old
Peter who gave you that jolly ride?"
"No, I am not sure," said Barnes, uneasily. "She was afoot, having
walked from the station below. I met her at the corners and she asked
me if I knew how far it was to Green Fancy, or something like that.
Said she was going there. Then along came the automobile, rattling
down this very road,--an ancient Panhard driven by an old codger. She
seemed to think it was all right to hop in and trust herself to him,
although she'd never seen him before."
"The antique Panhard fits in all right," said O'Dowd, "but I'm hanged
if the woman fits at all. No such person arrived at Green Fancy last
night."
"Did you get a square look at the driver's face?" demanded De Soto.
"It was almost too dark to see, but he was old, hatchet-faced, and
spoke with an accent."
"Then it couldn't have been Peter," said De Soto positively. "He's
old, right enough, but he is as big as the side of a house, with a
face like a full moon, and he is Yankee to his toes.
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