seven. He had been teaching men whose
creed was murder and anarchy how to handle weapons. He had taken at
their face value words uttered by an emperor among scoundrels; had asked
no material or leading questions, and was in his conscience paying the
penalty for having snatched at tainted money with which to relieve
himself of obligations that pressed till they hurt.

Beginning in humiliation, the circle of his thoughts ascended time after
time to Barbara, only to fall from the high and tender lights which
memories and anticipations of her brought into them, back to that
darkness in which he struggled to give himself "a little the best of
things" and could not.

On arriving in New York a man of more complex mental processes would
have tried first of all to get the precious information which he carried
into the possession of Lichtenstein, but Wilmot felt that he could have
no peace until he had seen Blizzard, spoken his mind, and washed his
hands of him. That he would then put his own life in danger did not
occur to him, and would not have altered his determination if it had.

The lure of Barbara, however, drew him aside from the direct path to
Marrow Lane. He had resolved not to see her for a year, but thought it
right to break through that resolution in order to tell her at first
hand of Harry West's death. But the janitor told him that Miss Ferris
had not been coming to the studio for a long time. She had had no word
from her. She had left one day by the back stair without her hat; a
little later the legless beggar had left by the front door. His
expression had been enough to frighten a body to death. Yes, the boy had
come one day in a taxicab and gone away with her things. He had refused
to answer any questions. She had never thought very highly of him as a
boy. No, the bust upon which Miss Ferris had been at work had not been
removed. No, the gentleman could not see it. Orders were orders.... Yes,
the gentleman could see it. After all there had been no orders recently.

She led the way upstairs, her hand tightly closed upon a greenback. She
unlocked and flung open the door of Barbara's studio, remarking that
nothing in it had been touched since that lady's departure.

Wilmot noticed much dust, an overturned chair, and then his eyes rose to
the bust of Blizzard as to a living presence. The expression of that
bestial fallen face made his spine feel as if ants were crawling on it.
And he turned away with disgust and