"My old man had a whole string of banks," Fraser averred, hastily.
"Tell me—is Mr. Emerson ill?" asked the girl.
"Ill enough to lick a den of wildcats."
"He intended coming out to the yacht last night, but he disappointed us."
"He's as busy as an ant-hill. I met him turning in just as I came out for my constitutional."
"Where had he been all night?" Her voice betrayed an interest that
Fraser was quick to detect. He answered, cannily:
"You can search me! I don't keep cases on him. As long as he does his work, I don't care where he goes at quitting time." He resolved that this girl should learn nothing from him.
"There seem to be very few white women in this place," she said, after a pause.
"Only one, till you people came. Maybe you've crossed her trail?"
"Hardly!"