where?"--Madison's grip tightened.

The Flopper blinked.

"Aw, wot's de use!" he blurted out, as though his mind, suddenly made
up, brought him unbounded relief. "Youse'll find it out anyhow. Say, she
went off wid Thornton in de buzz-wagon yesterday, an' I put de Patriarch
to bed last night 'cause she wasn't back, an' dat's wot's de matter wid
him, she ain't showed up since an' he's near off his chump, an'--fer
God's sake let go my arm, Doc, youse're breakin' it!"

A sort of cold frenzy seemed to seize Madison. He was perfectly calm, he
felt himself perfectly calm and composed. Off all night with
Thornton--eh? Funny, wasn't it? She'd gone pretty far at last--gone the
limit.

"Why didn't you send me word this morning?"--was that his own voice
speaking? Well, he wouldn't have recognized it--but he was perfectly
calm nevertheless.

"Fer God's sake let go my arm," whimpered the Flopper. "I--I ain't no
squealer, dat's why."

Madison's arm fell away--to his side. He felt a whiteness creeping to
his face and lips, felt his lips twitch, felt the fingers of his hands
curl in and the nails begin to press into the palms.

"Mabbe," suggested the Flopper timidly, "mabbe dere was an accident."

Madison made no answer.

The Flopper shifted from foot to foot and licked his lips, stealing
frightened glances at Madison's face.

"Wot--wot'll I do wid de Patriarch?" he stammered out miserably.

And then Madison smiled at him--not happily, but eloquently.

"Swipe me!" mumbled the Flopper, as he backed out from the trellis. "Dis
love game's fierce--an' mabbe _I_ don't know! 'Sposin' she'd been
Mamie an' me the Doc--'sposin' it had!" He gulped hastily. "Swipe me!"
said the Flopper with emotion.

Madison, motionless, watched the Flopper disappear. He wasn't quite so
calm now, not so cool and collected and composed. He must go somewhere
and think this out--somewhere where it would be quiet and he wouldn't be
disturbed.

A step sounded on the path--Madison looked through the trellis. A man,
with yellow, unhealthy skin and sunken cheeks, his head bowed, was
passing in through the porch. It caught Madison with fierce, exquisite
irony. Why not go there himself if he wanted quiet--the shrine-room--the
place of meditation! Well, he wanted to _meditate_! He laughed
jarringly. The shrine-room--for him! Great! Immense! Magnificent! Why
not? That's what he had created it for, wasn't it--to meditate in!

He stepped inside. The woman, wh