“That’s mighty nice of you,” Doyle said, giving Flash a hard look. “We’ll be glad to stay. You sure have a nice place here.”
“Merely comfortable, not pretentious,” Rascomb smiled. “Now make yourselves at home. If you care to fish, my man Fleur will be glad to take you out on the lake.”
Rascomb’s manner was perfect. He chatted with Flash and Doyle about their work, and after they had removed the dust of their trip, left them to entertain themselves.
The cameramen wandered alone down to the lake. A breeze ruffled the blue water, slapping waves against the boats tied up at the dock. It whistled softly in the pine trees, rubbing the boughs gently together. About the place there was an atmosphere of quiet and peace, yet Flash felt uneasy.
Turning his head, he glanced back toward the lodge. Rascomb stood in the doorway. The man was watching them and smiling—a cold, triumphant smile.
“Doyle,” Flash said in a low tone.
“Yes? What’s on your mind now?”
“This Rajah business is a phony! Rascomb never did invite him to the lodge. Do me a favor, and let’s get away from here!”
CHAPTER XV
THROUGH THE PASS
George Doyle sat down on the edge of the dock, leaning his back against a post.