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Juan les Pins, where the skeleton of the new Casino was
rising. It was past four and under a blue-gray sky the first
fishing boats were creaking out into a glaucous sea. Then
they turned off the main road and into the back country.
‘It’s the golf course,’ cried Campion, ‘I’m sure that’s where
it’s going to be.’
He was right. When Abe’s car pulled up ahead of them
the east was crayoned red and yellow, promising a sultry
day. Ordering the hotel car into a grove of pines Rosemary
and Campion kept in the shadow of a wood and skirted the
bleached fairway where Abe and McKisco were walking
up and down, the latter raising his head at intervals like a
rabbit scenting. Presently there were moving figures over
by a farther tee and the watchers made out Barban and his
French second—the latter carried the box of pistols under
his arm.
Somewhat appalled, McKisco slipped behind Abe and
took a long swallow of brandy. He walked on choking and
would have marched directly up into the other party, but
Abe stopped him and went forward to talk to the French-
man. The sun was over the horizon.
Campion grabbed Rosemary’s arm.
‘I can’t stand it,’ he squeaked, almost voiceless. ‘It’s too
much. This will cost me—‘
‘Let go,’ Rosemary said peremptorily. She breathed a
frantic prayer in French.
The principals faced each other, Barban with the sleeve
rolled up from his arm. His eyes gleamed restlessly in the
sun, but his motion was deliberate as he wiped his palm on

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