No Quarter

CHAPTER V. "NO REASON."

Rhoda Marchand's snipping scissors became silent as the lock on the door of the outer office clicked back. The door opened. Jax Bowman and Big Jim Grood entered the room, their faces flushed and angry red from exposure to the desert sun.

"You got my wire?" asked Jax Bowman.

"Yes, sir," she said, in that tone of crisp efficiency which was as distinctive as the sound of her snipping shears. "I got your telegram and secured the reservations. Two tickets around the world. The names were Rita Coleman and Evelyn Mayer. That's correct?"

"Correct," said Jax Bowman. "When do they sail?"

"At two o'clock this afternoon."

"Get me," Bowman said, "some flowers and some travelers' baskets of fruit, candy, books, and so forth."

Her swiftly flying pencil made a note.

"Yes, sir," she said.

Her fingers held up a newspaper clipping.

"In case you're interested," she said, "there's another newspaper clipping about the mysterious white rings again. An entire gang of criminals were wiped out in the desert northeast of Banning. Two of the criminals were escaped murderers. One was a desperate kidnaper that the police have been hunting for years. One had a long record of suspected swindles. Apparently there was a gun battle between the gang and two men and a girl. The police think the girl was wounded. A physician in Banning gave first-aid treatment and then she disappeared in a chartered plane which the police have been unable to trace."

"How did they connect it with the white rings?" asked Jim Grood.

"There was a mask with white rings around the eyes found in the sand where one of the men had stooped to pick up the girl when she fell forward, wounded. Expert trackers have gone over the scene and advised what must have happened by studying the tracks in the sand."

Jax Bowman nodded.

"You may," he said, "put the clipping in on my desk."

"Do you want the other clippings of the white rings?" she inquired.

"No," he said, "I'll read that one, that's all."

Rhoda Marchand's face remained expressionless.

"Both of the young women who are to sail," she asked, "are—er—perfectly able to travel?"

Jax Bowman's face was unsmiling.

"Miss Mayer," he said, "has a temporary attack of acute rheumatism. It will be necessary for her to go aboard in a wheel chair, but I have every assurance that she'll recover from the attack and enjoy the cruise."

Miss Marchand reached a wrapped package from the drawer of her desk.

"Very well," she said, "I ordered this for you."

Jax Bowman held the package in his hand, looking at her questioningly.

"Some of the very best lotions," she said, "to remove the effects of sunburn."

"When did you order it?" asked Bowman.

"This morning," she said, "at nine o'clock."

"Was that," asked Big Jim Grood, "when you cut the clipping from the paper dealing with the strange deaths in the desert?"

Miss Marchand was a very efficient young woman. It could never be said of her that she didn't know her place, or that she failed to keep her own counsel. Her eyes were wide and innocent as she stared at Big Jim Grood.

"Why," she said, "I'm sure I can't remember, Mr. Grood. Is there any reason why I should?"

"No," said Jax Bowman with a smile twisting the corners of his mouth, "there is no reason whatever."