He ran back to his car, glancing only once at the man in the car. Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. " "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. ” The suitcase loomed in her memory, making its presence felt once again. She had, by the magic of recollection, set the picture of the typhoon between herself and her table companions: the terrible rollers thundering on the white shore, the deafening bellow of the wind, the bending and snapping palms, the thatches of the native huts scattering inland, the blur of sand dust, and those two outcasts defying the elements. But what if she were to marry? He glanced towards the elderly dame and found her watching him, the dimple very much in evidence.
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