"Wagner," said Miss O'Neill to her man, "there's a farm about a mile down this road where they'll bandage up your wrist, and make you some sort of a sling. Don't be away longer than you can help. Mr. Carter and I will look after the car till you get back."
"Thank you'm," said the driver, and marched off into the night. They stared after him till the sound of his footfalls on the hard road died away, and then said Miss O'Neill, "Why doesn't Mr. Cascaes answer when I cable?"
"You can hardly expect me to overlook the work of your Las Palm as agency."
"Don't quibble. Do you know why he is silent?"
"I can make a guess."
"Well, go on."
"He's probably too busy picking aloe thorns out of his carcass to find time for writing cables."
"Oh, so you threw him into an aloe hedge, did you? What did Laura say to that?"
"Well, as she knew nothing about it, she naturally did not comment."
"I see; and did Mr. Cascaes object?"