mean certain persons who are on the Laminian?"
"Both," she retorted.
"Then that brings us to the question of just why you are going back to Locombia in such a way and at such a time," McKinnon patiently insisted.
"But Guariqui is my home—it is the only home I have, now." She noticed the fleeting look of concern, that amounted to anxiety, over spreading his face, and she hastened to add, with her slow and almost mournful smile: "You know, they often speak of it as the Paris of America! We don't actually tattoo each other down there! And there's something appealing in the life, when you've got used to it—the stir and colour and romance and movement of it all."
"But you see you haven't yet quite explained why you are going back to Locombia."
Her deep and troubled eyes seemed to be weighing him; she seemed to be pondering his possible weakness and strength.
"How can I explain to you, when you're a paid agent of Ganley's?"
"Don't be too sure of that!" McKinnon ejaculated, with more feeling, apparently, than the woman had expected.
"You mean you may not work with him?"
