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"Yes, sir, she do. Arsked me 'bout it, but I knowed nuffin, I didn't." "Is your laurel wreath on good and tight, Judy?" asked Bruce with a twinkle. "I'm going to beg Elinor to have hers tied on with nice little blue ribbons. Miss Pat is on the rampage for fame, and it isn't safe to take chances." Speedily, however, she recovered herself, and with a dark smile of contempt and pity she was about to deny all, when Jen brought out his last accusation..

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"Let's stay here for a minute or two, and then run up to the house before it comes," suggested Patricia, with her chin on the half door of the barn, looking out over the tender landscape and down at the flowers in the unused barnyard far below. "Really! I hope you will succeed. But a case like this requires a trained intelligence such as you will find in a detective. Of course you may command my services, major, but I am afraid you will not succeed." Among the palms and costly rugs that backgrounded a marvelous regal dais occupying one long end of the great room, sat the glittering figure of the portly Haroun-al-Raschid, Sultan of Bagdad and husband of many lovely wives, whose multi-colored costumes made a glowing garden on the rugs at the foot of the dais, while on the embroidered cushions at the side of the monarch a lovely Scheherazade in shimmering white satin with strings of glistening gems in her hair, on her breast, on her arms and ankles, made an alluring picture of the new-made bride. Tall palms reared their stately fronds above the group and slave girls, with fierce Nubians in attendance, waited in mute homage at either side of the throne. Lamps of brass glittered in the alcoves back of the great dais, and above it all the roofs and minarets of the ancient city gloomed in the moonlight of the thousand and second night. "Isn't she the limit?" said Patricia in disdain. "She oughtn't to eat frivolous things like éclairs. I wonder at her lack of judgment.".