beautiful in its radiant joy.

Bassett moved to the stair-foot. Once again he had to come down to earth with a bump. He passed his hand over his face as if to wipe off an [Pg 73]expression incompatible with disagreeable interviews. This must be Joe.

[Pg 73]

It was Joe, dressed for travel in knickerbockers and a Norfolk jacket, a golf cap on the back of his head. He carried an overcoat across his arm, in his hands a suit-case and a fishing-rod done up in a canvas case. At the sight of Bassett he halted, and the elder man noticed a change in his expression, a quick focusing to attention.

“Oh,” he said. “Want to see me, Bassett?”

“Yes, I want to speak to you before you go.”

Joe descended. Stopping a step above Bassett, he set down his baggage and leaned on the banister, politely waiting.

Bassett spoke with lowered voice:

“I heard something this morning that I can hardly believe—an accusation against you. That you’ve been using your position here to act as one of the police spies who’ve been keeping tab on Sybil.”

The boy looked at him with impenetrable eyes and answered in the same lowered key:

[Pg 74]

[Pg 74]

“Who told you that?”

“She did. She accuses you of having come here with that intention, got the job knowing that no outsiders were to be allowed on the island.”

Bassett was certain he had paled under his tan, but his face retained a masklike passivity.

“Sounds as if she might be losing her mind.”

“You deny it?”

The boy gave a scornful shrug:

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