y filled his heart; he wanted to help, without thought of
reward or punishment. He felt hot shame that his calling had deserved
the suspicion his employer cast upon it.

"I'll do my honest best," he said with such dear-eyed sincerity that
Gard smiled wanly and held out his hand.

"Thank you," he said simply.

The interview with the doctor lasted another half-hour. Time seemed to
fly. Another hour and he must leave to others the quest that his soul
demanded. Unquestioning and determined, Denning took him once more in
the limousine. They were silent during the drive to Victor Mahr's
address. Gard descended before the house, leaving Denning in the car.

"Don't worry," he said as he closed the door of the automobile. "I'll
not be long; I give you my word."

Denning smiled. "That's all that's wanted in Washington, old man. You've
got a quarter of an hour to spare."

Denning switched on the electric light and, taking a bundle of papers
from his inside pocket, began to pencil swift annotation.

Gard ran lightly up the steps. It was quite on the cards that Mrs.
Marteen in her anguish and despair might make an effort to see and
upbraid the man whose hatred and vengeance had wrecked her life. Mahr
must be warned of all that had taken place, and schooled to meet the
situation--to confess at once that his plans had been thwarted, that his
tongue was forever bound to silence and that his intended victim was
free. He, Marcus Gard, must dictate every word that might be said,
foresee every possible form in which a meeting might come, and dictate
the terms of Mahr's surrender. Words and sentences formed and shifted in
his mind as he waited impatiently for his summons to be answered. The
butler bowed, murmuring that Mr. Mahr was expecting Mr. Gard, and
preceded him across the anteroom to the well-remembered door of the
inner sanctum, which he threw open before the guest, and retired
silently.

Closing the door securely behind him, Gard turned toward the sole
occupant of the room. Mahr did not heed his coming nor rise to greet
him. The ticking of the carved Louis XV clock on the mantel seemed
preternaturally loud in the oppressive silence.

Suddenly and unreasonably Gard choked with fear. In one bound he crossed
the room and stood staring down at the face of his host. For an instant
he stood paralyzed with amazement and horror. Then, as always, when in
the heart of the tempest, he became calm, and his mind, as if acting
under s