rehead
and hung there. Her face was moon-white, her lips pale, the lines of
cheek and chin had sharpened, her eyes were closed. It was very like
death. My throat tightened and ached....

Doctor Askew stood across the bed from us, looking down at her.

"Here's Mr. Hunt," said Conlon, without further introduction. "He wants
to see you." Then he stepped back to the door and shut it, remaining
over by it, at some distance from the bed. His silence was expressive.
"Now show me!" it seemed to say. "This may be a big case for me and it
may not. If not, I'm satisfied; I'm ready for anything. Go on, show me!"

Doctor Askew was not, as I had expected to find him, old; nor even
middle-aged; an expectation caught, I presume, from Conlon's laconic
"One of the best--a big rep"; he was, I now estimated, a year or so
younger than I. I had never heard of him and knew nothing about him, but
I liked him at once when he glanced humorously up at Conlon's "He wants
to see you," nodded to me, and said: "I've been hoping you'd come soon,
Mr. Hunt. I've a mind to try something here--if you've no objection to
an experiment?"

He was a short man, not fat, but thickset like Conlon; only, with a
higher-strung vitality, carrying with it a sense of intellectual
eagerness and edge. He had a sandy, freckled complexion, bronzy,
crisp-looking hair with reddish gleams in it, and an unmistakably red,
aggressive mustache, close-clipped but untamed. Green-blue eyes. A man,
I decided, of many intensities; a willful man; but thoughtful, too, and
seldom unkind.

"Why did you wait for my permission?" I asked.

"I shouldn't have--much longer," he replied, his eyes returning to
Susan's unchanging face. "But I've read one or two of your essays, so I
know something of the feel of your mind. It occurred to me you might be
useful. And besides, I badly need some information about this"--he
paused briefly--"this very lovely child." Again he paused a moment,
adding: "This is a singular case, Mr. Hunt--and likely to prove more
singular as we see it through. I acted too impulsively in sending for
Conlon; I apologize. It's not a police matter, as I at first supposed.
However, I hope there's no harm done. Conlon is holding his horses and
trying to be discreet. Aren't you, Conlon?"

"What's the idea?" muttered Conlon, from the doorway; Conlon was not
used to being treated thus, _de haut en bas_. "Even if that poor little
girl's crazy, we'll have to swear out a warrant