she had raised her head; that against the rough tweed of his shoulder there lay a long, corn-gold hair.She laughed shakily and her hand went up to remove it; but he caught her fingers and held them to his face. And with the movement and his look there came over her in a wave the shame of her surrender, a shame that was yet a glory, a diadem of pride. She turned blindly away."Please," she heard herself saying, "let me go now. I want to be alone. I want to--please don't tell me to-night. To-morrow----" She was at the door, groping for the handle. Behind her she heard his voice; it was very tender."I shall always kneel to you--in your shrine." Then she was outside, and the chilly passages were cooling her burning face. She had left him in the room behind her; and she knew he would wait there long enough to allow her to leave the building. Almost immediately, it seemed, she was downstairs in the hall, had reached the entrance.She confronted a group of white-faced, silent men."Why, is anything the matter? What has happened? O'Dell?" The porter stood forward. He cleared his throat twice, but for all that, his words were barely audible."Yes, Miss Carryll. Good-night, miss. You'd best be going on, miss, if
you'll excuse----"

Behind O'Dell stood a policeman; behind him again, a grave-eyed man
stooped to an unusual task. It arrested her attention like the flash of
red danger.

"Why is the door of your room being locked, O'Dell?" She knew her
curiosity was indecent, but some powerful premonition was stirring in
her, and she could not pass on. "Has there been an accident? Who is in
there?"

Then, almost under her feet, she saw a dark pool lying sluggishly
against the tiles; nearer the door another--on the pavement outside
another--and yet another. She gasped, drew back, felt horribly sick;
and, as she turned, she caught O'Dell's muttered aside to the policeman.

"Young lady's 'is seccereterry--must be the last that seen 'im alive.
All told, 'tain't more'n 'arf-an-'our since 'e left. 'Good-night,
O'Dell,' sez 'e. 'Miss Carryll's still working--don't lock 'er in,' sez
'e. Would 'ave 'is joke. Must 'ave gone round the corner an' slap inter
the car. Wish to God the amberlance----"
Her cry cut into his words as she flung herself forward. Her fingers
wrenched at the key of the locked door and turned it, in spite of the

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