It was then the other voice broke in. "What's the idea of checking up on me? Do you think I'm a child? I know
what I'm doing!" "Be quiet!" said Mrs. Carr. Then, in her sweet voice. "I think someone
must have cut in on us. Good-by, Professor Saylor." The line went dead. He picked up his suitcase and walked out. X. The bus driver they pointed out to him had thick shoulders and sleepy,
competent-looking eyes. He was standing by the wall, smoking a
cigarette. "Sure, she must have been in my bus," he told Norman after thinking a
moment. "A pretty woman, on the small side, in a gray dress, with a
queer-looking silver brooch like you mentioned. One suitcase. Light
pigskin. I figured her out as going to see someone who was very sick,
or had been in an accident, maybe." Norman curbed his impatience. If it had not been for the
hour-and-a-half delay outside Jersey City, he would have been here well
ahead of the bus, instead of twenty minutes late. He said, "I want, if possible, to get a line on where she went after
she left your bus. The man at the desk can't help me." The driver looked at Norman. But he did not say, "Whatcha wanta know
for?" --for which Norman was grateful. He seemed to decide that Norman
was O. K.

He said, "I can't be sure, mister, but there was a local bus going down
the shore. I think she got on that." "Would it stop at Bayport?" The driver nodded. "How long since it left?" "About twenty minutes." "Could I get to Bayport ahead of it? If I took a cab?" "Just about. If you wanted to pay the bill there and back--and maybe
a little extra for the rubber he'd burn--I think Alec could take you." He waved in casual recognition at a man sitting in a cab just beyond
the station. "Mind you, mister, I can't say for certain she got on the
shore bus." "That's all right. Thanks a lot." In the glow of the street lamp Alec's foxy eyes were more openly
curious than the bus driver's, but he did not make any comments. "I can do it," he said cheerfully, "but we haven't any time to waste. Jump in." The shore highway led through lonely stretches of marsh and wasteland. Occasionally Norman caught the sibilant rustle of the leagues of tall
stiff seagrass, and a brackish tang from the dark inlets crossed by
long low bridges. The odor of the Bay. Indistinctly he made out factories and scattered houses. "There's a dimout some places," Alec volunteered once. He was paying
close attention to the road. They passed three or four busses without Alec making any comment. After a long while Alec said, "That should be her." A constellation of red and green taillights was vanishing over the rise
ahead. "About three miles to Bayport," he continued. "What should I do?" "Just get to Bayport a little ahead of her, and stop at the bus
station." "O.K." They overtook the bus and swung around it. The windows were too high
for Norman to see any of the occupants. Besides, the interior lights
were out. As they drew ahead, Alec nodded confirmingly. "That's her all right." *       *       *       *       *

The bus station at Bayport was also the railway depot. Vaguely Norman
remembered the loosely planked platform and packed cinders on the track
side. The station building was dark, but there were several cars and
a lone local cab drawn up, and there were some men standing around
talking in low voices, and a couple of soldiers going back to camp. He had time to scent the salt air, with its faint and not unpleasant
trace of fishiness. Then the bus pulled in. Several passengers stepped down, looking around to spot the people
waiting for them. Tansy was the third. She was staring straight ahead. She was carrying
the pigskin suitcase. "Tansy!" he said. She did not look at him. He noted a black stain on her right hand, and
remembered the spilled ink on his study table. Odd that it should still
be there. "Tansy!" he said. "Tansy!" She walked straight past him, so close that her sleeve brushed his. "Tansy, what's the matter with you?" He had turned and hurried after her. She was heading for the local cab. He was conscious of a silence, and curious unfriendly glances. It made
him angry. She did not slacken her pace. He grabbed her elbow and pulled her
around. He heard a remonstratory murmur behind him, and realized that a
couple of the men were closing in. "Tansy, stop acting this way! Tansy!" Her face looked frozen. She stared past him without a hint of
recognition in her eyes. That infuriated him. He did not pause to think. Accumulated tensions
prodded him into an explosion. He grabbed both elbows and shook her. She still looked past him, completely aloof--a perfect picture of an
aristocratic woman enduring brutality. If she had yelled and fought
him, the men might not have interfered. He was jerked back. "Lay off her!" "Who do you think you are, anyway?" She stood there, with maddening composure. He noticed a scrap of paper
flutter out of her hand. Then her eyes met his and for one terrible
moment--but one moment only--he saw rise up behind her a shaggy black
form twice her height, with hulking shoulders, out-stretched massive
hands, and dully glowing eyes. Only a moment, though. Then she turned away. But he fancied that a
great shadow followed hers. Then they swung him around and he could no
longer see her. *       *       *       *       *

In a queer sort of daze--for the kind of fear he had just experienced
mixes badly with any other emotion--he listened to them jabber at him. "I ought to take a crack at you," he finally heard someone say. "All right," he replied in a flat voice. "They're holding my hands." He heard Alec's voice. "Say, what's going on here?" Alec sounded
cautious, but not unfriendly, as if he were thinking, "The guy's my
fare, but I don't know anything about him." One of the soldiers spoke. "Where's the lady? She doesn't seem to be
making any complaint." "Yeah, where is she?" "She got in Jake's cab and drove off," someone volunteered. "Maybe he had a good reason for what he did," said the soldier. Norman felt the attitude of the crowd change. One of the men holding him retorted, "Nobody's got a right to treat a
lady that way." But the other one slackened his grip and asked Norman,
"How about it? Did you have a reason for doing that?" "I did. But it's my business." He heard a woman's voice, high-pitched. "A lot of fuss over nothing!" Grumbling, the men let him go. "But mind you," said the more belligerent one, "if she'd stuck around
and complained, I'd 've sure taken a crack at you." "All right," said Norman, "in that case you would have." His eyes were
searching for a scrap of paper. "Can anyone tell me the address she gave the cab driver?" he asked at
random. One or two shook their heads. The others ignored the question. Their
feelings toward him had not changed enough to make them co-operative. And very likely, in the excitement, no one had heard. Silently the little crowd drifted apart. People waited until they got
out of earshot before beginning to argue about what had happened.