"Quite so, Donald; quite so," Daney answered. "I did it on my own initiative. Nan Brent has abandoned the Sawdust Pile—moved away from Port Agnew, you know; so I decided to extend the drying-yard, and squat on the Sawdust Pile before some undesirable took possession."
"Hm-m-m! I see. Well, suppose Nan takes a notion to return to Port Agnew, Mr. Daney. She'll find our drying-yard something of a nuisance, will she not?"
"Oh, but she's not coming back," Daney assured him, with all the confidence of one free from the slightest doubt on the subject.
"She might. I could see rather dimly into the kitchen and it appears Miss Brent left her little home furnished."
"Yes, she did, Donald. I believe she just turned the key in the lock and went away."
"Know where she went, Mr. Daney?"
"No. She didn't even leave a forwarding address for her mail."
The young laird of Tyee lurched up to Mr. Daney and laid a heavy hand on the older man's shoulder.
"How do you know that?" he demanded, and there was a growl in his voice. "Has Mrs. Daney been asking the postmaster?"
Mr. Daney saw that, for some inexplicable reason, he was in for a bad five minutes or more. His youthful superior's face was white and beaded with perspiration. Daney had a suspicion that Donald had had a drink or two.