house of mysteries! And I had no reason to suspect that Copperhead Kate wasn't telling the truth.

"What did the visitor look like?" I asked.

"Like the morgue at four a.m.!" announced the woman with the thatch of russet bangs.

"But surely you saw her face."

Copperhead Kate shrugged a non-committal shoulder.

"There wasn't any too much light burning in that big bedroom. And I was so glad to get the gun I didn't ask for any identification cards!"

"You just got busy rounding up your friends here?"

Copperhead Kate stood regarding them with open contempt.

"All but that cuff-shooter at the far end there. He had the nerve to walk in on me with that club-bag of mine right in his hand. So I just took him in under my wing."

"Is that true?" I asked, turning to Wendy Washburn.

"Too true," was his flippantly solemn retort. He was not taking the situation, I could see, in quite the same spirit as the others were. He was still a puzzle to me. Every time I wanted to believe in him something turned up to make that belief impos-