twinkled out beyond the reef; the shore line of Honolulu was outlined by a procession of blinking stars controlled by dynamos. In the bright heavens hung a lunar rainbow, one colorful end in the Pacific and the other tumbling into the foliage ashore.
A gorgeous setting in which to be young and in love, and free to speak at last. John Quincy moved closer to the girl's side.
"Great night, isn't it?" he said.
"Wonderful," she answered softly.
"Cary, I want to tell you something, and that's why I brought you out here away from the others—"
"Somehow," she interrupted, "it doesn't seem quite fair to Johnnie."
"Never mind him. Has it ever occurred to you that my name's Johnnie, too."
She laughed. "Oh, but it couldn't be."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I simply couldn't call you that. You're too dignified and—and remote. John Quincy—I believe I could call you John Quincy—"
"Well, make up your mind. You'll have to call me something, because I'm going to be hanging round pretty constantly in the future. Yes, my dear, I'll probably turn out to be about the least remote person in the world. That is, if I can make you see the future the way I see it. Cary dearest—"
A gurgle sounded behind them, and they turned around. Lieutenant Booth was climbing on to the raft. "Swam the last fifty yards under water to surprise you," he sputtered.
"Well, you succeeded," said John Quincy without enthusiasm.
The lieutenant sat down with the manner of one booked to remain indefinitely. "I'll tell the world it's some night," he offered.
"Speaking of the world, when do you fellows leave Honolulu?" asked John Quincy.
"I don't know. To-morrow, I guess. Me, I don't care if we never go. Hawaii's not so easy to leave. Is it, Cary?"
She shook her head. "Hardest place I know of, Johnnie. I shall have to be sailing presently, and I know what a wrench it will be. Perhaps I'll follow the example of Waioli the swimmer, and leave the boat when it passes Waikiki."
They lolled for a moment in silence. Suddenly John Quincy sat up. "What was that you said?" he asked.
"About Waioli? Didn't I ever tell you? He was one of our best swimmers, and for years they tried to get him to go to the mainland to take part in athletic meets, like Duke Kahanamoku. But he was a sentimentalist—he couldn't bring himself to leave Hawaii. Finally they persuaded him, and one sunny morning he sailed on the Matsonia, with a very sad face. When the ship was opposite Waikiki he slipped overboard and swam ashore. And that was that. He never got on a ship again. You see—"
John Quincy was on his feet. "What time was it when we left the beach?" he asked in a low tense voice.
"About eight-thirty," said Booth.
John Quincy talked very fast. "That means I've got just thirty minutes to get ashore, dress, and reach the dock before the President Tyler sails. I'm sorry to go, but it's vital—vital. Cary, I'd started to tell you something. I don't know when I'll get back, but I must see you when I do, either at Mrs. Maynard's or the hotel. Will you wait up for me?"
She was startled by the seriousness of his tone. "Yes, I'll be waiting," she told him.
"That's great." He hesitated a moment; it is a risky business to leave the girl you love on a float in the moonlight with a handsome naval officer. But it had to be done. "I'm off," he said, and dove.
When he came up he heard the lieutenant's voice. "Say, old man, that dive was all wrong. You let me show you—"
"Go to the devil," muttered John Quincy wetly, and swam with long powerful strokes toward the shore. Mad with haste, he plunged into the dressing-room, donned his clothes, then dashed out again. No time for apologies to his hostess. He ran along the beach to the Winterslip house. Haku was dozing in the hall.
"Wikiwiki," shouted John Quincy. "Tell the chauffeur to get the roadster into the drive and start the engine. Wake up! Travel! Where's Miss Barbara?"
"Last seen on beach—" began the startled Haku.
On the bench under the hau tree he found Barbara sitting alone. He stood panting before her.
"My dear," he said. "I know at last who killed your father—"
She was on her feet. "You do?"
"Yes—shall I tell you?"
"No," she said. "No—I can't bear to hear. It's too horrible."
"Then you've suspected?"
"Yes—just suspicion—a feeling—intuition. I couldn't believe it—I didn't want to believe it. I went away to get it out of my mind. It's all too terrible—"
He put his hand on her shoulder. "Poor Barbara. Don't you worry. You won't appear in this in any way. I'll keep you out of it."
"What—what has happened?"
"Can't stop now. Tell you later." He ran toward the drive. Miss Minerva appeared from the house. "Haven't time to talk," he cried, leaping into the roadster.
"But John Quincy—a curious thing has happened—that lawyer who was here to look at the house—he said that Dan, just a week before he died, spoke to him about a new will—"
"That's good! That's evidence!" John Quincy cried.
"But why a new will? Surely Barbara was all he had—"
"Listen to me," cut in John Quincy. "You've delayed me already. Get the big car and go to the station—tell that to Hallet. Tell him too that I'm on the President Tyler and to send Chan there at once."
He stepped on the gas. By the clock in the automobile he had just seventeen minutes to reach the dock before the President Tyler would sail. He shot like a madman through the brilliant Hawaiian night. Kalakaua Avenue, smooth and deserted, proved a glorious speedway. It took him just eight minutes to travel the three miles to the dock. A bit of traffic and an angry policeman in the center of the city caused the delay.
A scattering of people in the dim pier-shed waited for the imminent sailing of the liner. John Quincy dashed through them and up the gangplank. The second officer, Hepworth, stood at the top.
"Hello, Mr. Winterslip," he said. "You sailing?"
"No. But let me aboard!"
"I'm sorry. We're about to draw in the plank."
"No, no—you mustn't. This is life and death. Hold off just a few minutes. There's a steward named Bowker—I must find him at once. Life and death, I tell you."
Hepworth stood aside. "Oh, well, in that case. But please hurry, sir—"
"I will." John Quincy passed him on the run. He was on his way to the cabins presided over by Bowker when a tall figure caught his eye. A man in a long green ulster and a battered green hat—a hat John Quincy had last seen on the links of
