He took up a hat from the table and surveyed it with an air of critical intelligence.
"It was innate genius that set this plume at the one artistic angle. Had it been done by less capable hands, the thing would have looked like a decorated beehive."
The others laughed, and he led them on to general chatter, under cover of which Vane presently drew Drayton to the door.
"The girl looks far from fit," he said. "Has the doctor been over lately?"
"Two or three days ago," answered Drayton. "We've been worried about Celia. It's out of the question that she should go back to the hotel, and she can only manage to work a few hours daily. There's another thing—the clerk of the fellow who owns these shacks has just been along for his rent. It's overdue."
"Where's he now?"
Drayton laughed, for the sounds of a vigorous altercation rose from farther up the unlighted street.
"I guess he's yonder, having some more trouble with his collecting."
"I'll fix that matter, anyway."
Vane disappeared into the darkness, and it was some time later when he re-entered the shack. He waited until a remark of Celia's gave him a lead.