extraordinary man,
meeting Whitaker's gaze openly. "I do," he repeated, flushing in his
turn, "but ... hopelessly.... However, that was the third reason," he
pursued in a more level voice--"I thought you ought to know about
it--that induced me to keep Sara Law's secret.... I loved her from the
day I found her. She has never looked twice at me.... But that's why I
never lost interest."

"You mean," Whitaker took him up diffidently--"you continued to--ah--?"

"Court her--as we say? No." Ember's shoulders, lifting, emphasized the
disclaimer. "I'm no fool: I mean I'm able to recognize a hopeless case
when it's as intimate to me as mine was--and is. Doubtless Mrs. Whitaker
understands--if she hasn't forgotten me by this time--but, if so, wholly
through intuition. I have had the sense not to invite the thunderbolt.
I've sat quietly in the background, watching her work out her
destiny--feeling a good deal like a god in the machine. She doesn't know
it, unless Max told her against my wish; but it was I who induced him to
take her from the ranks of a provincial stock company and bring her
before the public, four years ago, as _Joan Thursday_. Since then her
destiny has been rather too big a thing for me to tamper with; but I've
watched and wondered, sensing forces at work about her of which even she
was unsuspicious."

"What in blazes do you mean?" Whitaker demanded, mystified.

"Did it strike you to wonder at the extraordinary mob her farewell
performance attracted to-night--the rabble that packed the street,
though quite hopeless of even seeing the inside of the theatre?"

"Why--yes. It struck me as rather unusual. But then, Max had done
nothing but tell me of her tremendous popularity."

"That alone, great as it is, wouldn't have brought so many people
together to stare at the outside of a theatre. The magnet was something
stronger--the morbid curiosity of New York. Those people were waiting,
thrilled with expectancy, on tiptoe for--what do you think?"

"I shall think you mad in another moment, if you don't explain
yourself," Whitaker told him candidly.

Ember's smile flashed and vanished. "They were waiting for the sensation
that presently came to them: the report of Drummond's death."

"What the devil--!"

"Patience!... It had been discounted: if something of the sort hadn't
happened, New York would have gone to bed disappointed. The reason? This
is the third time it has happened--the same thing, practically: Sar