saw the police inspector accompany the Americans toward the town. But as most of the police loitered at the "wireless" station, the crowd turned back and still waited about the little stone house.
So young Preston and the girl and the inspector entered the sleepy little Cornish village alone. It was little more than a double row of pretty, picturesque stone and thatch shops and houses extending along both sides of the shady little street, unevenly paved with big, flat stones. But beyond the end of this street stood a newer and more pretentious building, put up to attract the travelling Americans who love Cornwall.
A big motor-car was standing before this inn. Ethel Varris recognized it with an exclamation of pleasure, and in a moment she saw her English friends with her mother in the morning-room of the inn.
The girl at once brought in young Preston and the police inspector and presented them to her mother's friends. Mr. Brookingdale stared
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