"Don't, Bobby! Don't!" Katherine cried.
"Sh—h! Quiet!" Graham warned.
A foot scraped on gravel.
"Maybe the detective," Bobby suggested.
He stared at the bend, expecting to see the stiff, plain figure of the detective emerge from the forest. Instead with a dawning amazement he watched Carlos Paredes stroll into view. The Panamanian was calm and immaculate. His Van Dyke beard was neatly trimmed and combed. As he advanced he puffed in leisurely fashion at a cigarette.
Graham flushed.
"After last night he has the nerve—"
"Be decent to him," Bobby urged. "He might help me—might clear up last night."
"I wonder," Graham mused, "to what extent he could clear it up if he wished."
Paredes threw his cigarette away as he came closer. Solemnly he shook
hands with Katherine and Bobby, expressing a profound sympathy. Even then
Bobby remarked that those reserved features let slip no positive emotion.
The man turned to Graham.