get it, the worse
the attack."

Johnson did not appear again that day. A small man in a raincoat took
his place. The next morning I made my initial trip to the office,
the raincoat still on hand. I had a short conference with Miller, the
district attorney, at eleven. Bronson was under surveillance, he said,
and any attempt to sell the notes to him would probably result in their
recovery. In the meantime, as I knew, the Commonwealth had continued the
case, in hope of such contingency.

At noon I left the office and took a veterinarian to see Candida, the
injured pony. By one o'clock my first day's duties were performed, and
a long Sahara of hot afternoon stretched ahead. McKnight, always glad
to escape from the grind, suggested a vaudeville, and in sheer ennui
I consented. I could neither ride, drive nor golf, and my own company
bored me to distraction.

"Coolest place in town these days," he declared. "Electric fans, breezy
songs, airy costumes. And there's Johnson just behind--the coldest
proposition in Washington."

He gravely bought three tickets and presented the detective with one.
Then we went in. Having lived a normal, busy life, the theater in the
afternoon is to me about on a par with ice-cream for breakfast. Up on
the stage a very stout woman in short pink skirts, with a smile that
McKnight declared looked like a slash in a roll of butter, was singing
nasally, with a laborious kick at the end of each verse. Johnson, two
rows ahead, went to sleep. McKnight prodded me with his elbow.

"Look at the first box to the right," he said, in a stage whisper. "I
want you to come over at the end of this act."

It was the first time I had seen her since I put her in the cab at
Baltimore. Outwardly I presume I was calm, for no one turned to stare at
me, but every atom of me cried out at the sight of her. She was leaning,
bent forward, lips slightly parted, gazing raptly at the Japanese
conjurer who had replaced what McKnight disrespectfully called the
Columns of Hercules. Compared with the draggled lady of the farm-house,
she was radiant.

For that first moment there was nothing but joy at the sight of her.
McKnight's touch on my arm brought me back to reality.

"Come over and meet them," he said. "That's the cousin Miss West is
visiting, Mrs. Dallas."

But I would not go. After he went I sat there alone, painfully conscious
that I was being pointed out and stared at from the box. The abominable
Japanese gave w