Mr. Gibson, half dead, half bom, was not sure about anything.)
He had just pulled himself together to abandon here and proceed to ring another when he heard a shrill whistle, looked, and saw Lee Coffey beckoning with huge gestures of his long arms.
Mr. Gibson's heart leaped up. He was pleased that Lee Coffey should be the one of the four of them to find the scent. He was pleased with the magic of it. It was almost enough to make you dream a man could put intelligence and intuition against odds and make progress. Which was romantic and naive, but he liked it. As he limped leftward, Rosemary was running to catch up with him and he saw Paul hurrying back.
They flocked up upon the gray porch of a neat gray frame house that made one think of New England. There was even a lilac bush . . . an exotic and difficult plant here in the West—growing beside the porch railing. In the dopr stood a small blond girl at whom Lee Coffey looked down with hidden eyes.
She was wearing a long wrapper of blue cotton. Her hair was tousled, as if it had just left a pillow. Her face W21S broad at the eyes and curved quickly into a small chin. It was an attractive little face, not conventionally pretty. The skin was smooth and fine. The mouth was 'Serious. The gray eyes were serene. The only thing ''blonde' about her, in Ethel's sense, was the color of her hair.
'And here she is,' said Lee, like the Little Bear in the story.
'What is it, please?' the girl said in a self-assured voice. She wasn't a person easily surprised, one could tell. For a slim little girl, she seemed very strong.
Lee blurted, 'We aren't here to accuse you, ma'am. But did you find a bottle of olive oil on a bus today? And did you bring it home?''
'No, I didn't,' said the blonde quietly.
The atmosphere of excited triumphant hope swirled and began to die down.
'Did you see,' said Rosemary doggedly, 'my husband . . . this man. . .' she put her hand on Mr. Gibson, 'on the bus?'
'No, I didn't' said the blonde. Her eyes traveled from face to face. 'Something is wrong? I remember you,' she said, coming to Lee Coffey. 'Aren't you the driver?' Her eyes were very clear and steady.
'Yes, ma'am.' Mr. Gibson found himself waiting for Lee to tell whose blonde she was, but his sandy lashes were discreet.
She wrinkled her fair brow. 'Will one of you please tell me what's the matter?'
Rosemary was the one of them who told her. When she was a quarter of the way into the exposition, the small blonde, by gestures only, brought them all inside the house. As if trouble as bad as this better not stand where the breeze might blow and communicate it. So they all sat down in the parlor, on edges of stiff sofas and chairs, while Rosemary went on.
This small blonde female had an air of calm and precision about her. She listened without making noises of alarm or even appreciation. But you knew she did appreciate and was alarmed.
'Then Lee . . . Mr. Coffey, here . . . remembered you' finished Rosemary, 'and so we came. Hoping you had it. Or had seen something.'
'I wouldn't have taken it, I'm sorry, even if I'd seen it. It wouldn't have occurred to me.' The blonde's immaculate ringless hands clasped her knee. 'I didn't see anything of a paper bag or a bottle.' This serene little person had never been in danger from the missing poison.
But now there was no way to continue. They had come to an end. Magic had found the bus driver's blonde, but not the poison. It was not here.
Mr. Gibson squirmed. He found himself incorrigibly on the side of the magic. 'You must tell us your name,' he said impulsively. He wanted the bus driver to learn her name.
She said her name was Virginia Severson, It suited her. She looked very virginal, and clean, calm, cool in a Scandinavian sort of way. Rosemary rallied and told her all their names. Once again, the civilized ceremony of mutual introduction seemed to relax Paul Townsend. He was charming.
But all this was only delay. The stiff, shabby, spotless parlor seemed airless and stagnant.
Miss Severson said, 'I sat pretty well forward in the bus. You must have been sitting behind me.' Her grave eyes examined Mr. Gibson. 'I'm sorry.' She turned her face to Lee Coffey. 'You were clever to find me,' she said.
'One day,' said Lee, 'I saw you breathing through a lilac ...'
'Are you from the East, too?' she said warmly, 'that you noticed a lilac?'
'I'll tell you another time,' said the bus driver softly, 'how come I noticed the lilac.'
The blond girl let her lashes down. 'I wish I could have helped you,' she murmured.
Paul twitched. 'Say, if the police have been broadcasting a warning all this time, maybe we should call . . .?'
'Call,' said Rosemary with her hands clenched.
Virginia Severson showed Paul the telephone. Mr. Gibson surrendered himself to his chair; hope faded. All the magic belonged to the bus driver. The poison was still lost, still threatening.
The girl came back, biting her lips. 'I am a nurse, you know,' she said to them. 'This . . . well, it shocks me.
'A man has his reasons,' said Lee Coffey, gently. 'It's easy to say he was crazy. It's also lazy.'
Virginia Severson tilted her head and shot him a glance that was suddenly alert. 'His reasons aren't the question, right now, are they?' she said. 'I meant unlabeled poison, Mr. Coffey. Floating around. That's shocking! I'm trained to be careful with drugs.'
'We'd like to find it. Miss Severson. We'd mighty like to find it,' he drawled. His intent gaze was
