s
white, strained face not testified to it. Coming into the studio, he
affected nothing--neither apology, greeting, nor explanation; without
preamble he came straight to the matter that possessed his mind.

"You know of this?" He held out a square white envelope, bearing bold
feminine handwriting--writing over which time and thought and labor had
been expended in this same room ten hours earlier. "You know this?"

"Yes." Max's tongue clicked dryly against the roof of his mouth, but his
eyes bore the fire of Blake's scrutiny.

"You know the contents?"

"Yes."

"'Yes!' And you can stand there like a graven image. Do you realize it,
at all? Do you grasp it?"

"I--think I understand."

"You think you understand?" Blake laughed in a manner that was not
agreeable. "Understand, forsooth! You, who have never seen anything
human or divine that you rate above your own little finger! Understand!"
He laughed again, then suddenly his attitude changed. "But I haven't
come here to waste words! You know that, your sister has left Paris?"

Max nodded, finding no words.

"She tells me here that she has gone--gone out of my life--that I am to
forget her."

"Well?"

"Well, that has only one meaning, when it comes from the one woman. I
must know where she is."

Max set his lips and studiously averted his face.

"Come! Tell me where she is! Time counts."

"I do not know."

"I expected that! You're lying, of course; but when you're up against a
man in my frame of mind, lies are poor ammunition. I don't ask you why
she has gone--that's between her and me, that's my affair. But I must
know where she is."

"I cannot tell you."

"You cannot refuse to tell me! Look here, boy, you've always seen my
soft side, you don't believe there is a hard one. But we Irish can
surprise you."

Max had no physical fear, but he backed involuntarily before the menace
in Blake's eyes.

"I'm not lying to you, Ned. I cannot tell you, because I do not know. My
sister Maxine has ceased to exist--for me, as much as for you."

"Stop!" Blake stepped close to him and for an instant his hand was
raised, but it fell at once to his side, and he laughed once more,
harshly and self-consciously. "Don't play with me, boy! I've had a hard
knock."

"I'm not playing. It's true! It's true!" Dark eyes, with dark lines
beneath them, stared at Blake, carrying conviction. "It's true! It's
true! I do not know."

"God, boy!" Blake faltered in his vehemence.