her well-meant
injunction. She rose and dressed, her mind busy all the while with the
problem of what her duty was. As she donned her clothing she paused from
time to time to listen for sounds from the next apartment.

What was her neighbor doing now? Had he read of the discovery of the
man's body in the street? Perhaps he had fled already? Not a sound was
to be heard there. He did not look in the least like what Jane imagined
a murderer would, yet certainly the circumstances pointed all too
plainly to his guilt. She had seen two men dash around the corner, one
in pursuit of the other. One of them had come back alone. Not long
afterward a body--the body of the other man--had been found with a
bullet in his heart. It must have been a murder.

What ought she to do about it? Was it her duty to tell her mother and
Dad about what she had seen? Mother, she knew, would be horrified and
would caution her to say nothing to any one, but Dad was different. He
had strict ideas about right and justice. He would insist on hearing
every word she had to tell. More than likely he would decide that it was
her duty to give the information to the authorities. Her face blanched
at the thought. She could not do that. She pictured to herself the
notoriety that would necessarily ensue. She saw herself being hounded by
reporters, she imagined her picture in the papers, she heard herself
branded as "the witness in that murder case," she depicted herself being
questioned by detectives and badgered by lawyers.

No, she decided, it would be best for her never to tell a soul, not even
her parents. In persistent silence lay her safest course. After all she
had not witnessed the commission of the crime. She was not even sure
that the man found dead had been one of the two she had watched from her
window. If she saw the body she would not be able to identify it. She
was not even certain in her own mind that the man next door had done the
shooting, however suspicious his actions may have appeared to her.
Besides, he did not look in the least like a murderer. He was too
well-dressed.

In an effort to put the whole thing out of her mind she tried to read,
but was unable to keep her thoughts from wandering. She sat down at the
piano, but music failed to interest or soothe her. She mussed over some
unanswered notes in her desk but could not summon up enough
concentration of mind to answer them. Restless and fidgety, unable to
keep her thoughts from the