her; so he and the Royle girl ran back to their building, where Ketlar got into bed; and the girl went upstairs to her room. When he was arrested, she came down to put up an alibi for him. But Ketlar and she were not such awfully good liars; they had forgotten to fix up several things, such as the time when old man Royle came in and whether he saw them or not.
Calvin walked beside Denson up the street down which, a couple of hours earlier, Joan Daisy had drawn the moon. It moved before him, as it had paced beside her, but he did not notice it. He never had imagined himself playing with the moon, and never had he been in a mood further from such fantasy.
He accompanied Denson into the long, narrow court surrounded by the brick-and-plaster encampment with the several doors; and upon the second floor, above the second door, he came upon Fred Ketlar and the girl who was trying to aid him.
Ketlar was not yet dressed; he had a robe over his pajamas but otherwise he was as when the police roused him from bed, except that he was much exhausted. He was the type of man Calvin Clarke had expected.
He was handsome; and Calvin had been told that he was. He displayed, even in his fright at his arrest and following his examination, a flare of shallow spirit. Calvin had anticipated as much from a man who had had the energy to manage a band and compose jazz in the current mode.
Yet handsome as he was, he bore no more mark of the character of any race than had his wife, who lay dead with the rouge and paint on her face. He was, like her, an American.
The Royle girl proved something of a surprise. She was pale and actually lovely looking, when Calvin had
