Over to her desk ran Winifred, where she rapidly set down her choice, then gave it into the keeping of Julie.
"Now sir—please state your own choice of a drive," said the girl, gaily.
"I've always wanted to visit Parkins' hut," said he, yawning after the fashion of one who desires to hide his curiosity concerning a certain particular thing.
Simultaneously the two girls broke out in laughter, as Julie passed over Winifred's scribbled line—"The Parkins Castle on the Outer Drive." She had once seen the hut and with girlish curiosity wanted to see it again.
"Now then—see how you control my very thoughts!" laughed Winifred running over to him and patting his cheek. "Now 'sposing you were a wicked king, just imagine what a living death I would lead!" she ended, her voice deeply sepulchral as her girlish voice could command.
And so the plan took immediate effect by way of starting out. As they quickly passed through the deserted business quarter, the question arose as to which turn to take for the outer drive, but an inquiry brought them the right information.
"Wouldn't it be terrible if we'd find him there," suggested Winifred snuggling more closely to Villard and clutching his arm.
"Nothing like that can happen. He is occupied elsewhere," replied Villard, his teeth set and his voice cold.
After that the ride continued in silence until the outer drive came within view. Then with delight the two girls grew interested in the great billows that came rolling in from the ocean, almost forgetting the objective hut that had held their thought. But it came to view most quickly thereafter. Unpainted and weather beaten, it stood alone without tree or shrub to lend it hospitable appearance. Just a shack—nothing else—a bedroom, plainly furnished, and in order, also a kitchenette, and a bath tub with shower. Several empty barrels outside told of the fresh water supply, hauled in, no doubt, from nearby wells, inside the bay district. Evidently the owner liked music, as a banjo-guitar stood in one corner of the room. Also there had been a dog about the premises, accounted for by a muzzle and chain, and a collar to which was attached a state license. In a crude desk there were various papers and letters, some with envelopes addressed by feminine hands. All these Villard made into a bundle, and wrapped them with an old newspaper.
"I'll turn them over to Updyke," said he to Winifred, as she looked on. "They might be valuable—some time," he mumbled as if to himself. Then suddenly he almost shouted—"Let us get away from this infamous den!" as he opened the door for the two girls to pass out. Then he slammed it behind him and walked to the car without looking back.