Sometimes he would stop to get out and make one of his scouting detours, or he would follow a car to some distant roadhouse, or go to the outlying summer pavilions where popular dances were given.

More than once, late at night, he was an unseen and unbidden guest at one of the gay bathing parties.

Strange and startling incidents seemed to gravitate toward Lane.

He might have been predestined for this accumulation of facts.

How vain it seethed for wild young men and women to think they hid their tracks! Some trails could not be hidden.
Toward the end of that protracted period of surveillance, Lane knew that he had become infamous in the eyes of most of that younger set.
He had been seen too often, alone, watching, with no apparent excuse for his presence.