"Let her wait," breathed the trainer.
"Here comes Stover and Willie."
"More bad news." Glass unrolled his prayer-rug, and stepped upon it hastily. "Say, what's that word? Quick! You know! The password. Quick!"
"Allah!"
"That's her!" The fat man began to mumble thickly. It was plain that his spirit was utterly broken.
But this call was prompted purely by solicitude, it seemed. Willie had little to say, and Stover, ignoring all mention of the earlier encounter he had witnessed, exclaimed:
"There's been some queer goin's-on 'round here, Mr. Speed. Have you noticed 'em?"
"No. What sort?"
"Well, the other mornin' I discovered some tracks through one of
Miss Jean's flower-beds."
"Tracks!"