knew him for a murderer, she alone. His own life was in peril, as well
as all his hopes for reaping the benefit of his crime, as long as she
was free to tell what she knew. There was no one but herself to give
him away, no one else to say how he had cold-bloodedly done away with
one victim and now was laying a trap for another one... for Roger....

Roger! As the thought struck her she almost leapt to her feet in
consternation. He was in danger now; he had no suspicion to protect
him. Unless he held firm against that anti-toxin he was already
doomed. How could she tell if they had already overcome his prejudice?
Perhaps he had by now had the injections, one, two even. If he had,
nothing could save him, she knew that. Her heart grew cold with fear.

Still, there was a loophole of hope. He had distinctly assured her he
had made up his mind against the anti-toxin. If only he could be
depended upon to remain obstinate! The danger was that he might at any
moment yield to the persuasions of his aunt. He hated to distress her
needlessly. After all, his resistance was only a caprice; it could not
be depended on as a safeguard. It came to her with dreadful certainty
that there was no one who could warn him but herself--and she was a
prisoner, several miles away. For the moment her own possible fate
scarcely concerned her at all. It was the thought of Roger's position
which drove her nearly frantic, impelled her to rise with tottering,
cautious steps and investigate her prison.

She crept, trembling, to the door and tried the handle. It was locked,
of course; she had known it would be. She clung to the knob and looked
around. The room, built for a studio, had no window, only a sloping
skylight, which was firmly fastened. The atmosphere was close, that of
a room long shut up, flavoured with tobacco-smoke and the clean,
pungent odour of carbolic. Dust lay on the furniture, but here and
there it was disturbed in streaks, showing that someone had been there
recently. She wondered if she was all alone in the house. She
remembered that Jacques was away on holiday. Yet it scarcely seemed
likely that Sartorius would care to risk leaving her completely
unguarded. Again she listened, leaning against the door, conscious of
extreme weakness and trying hard to keep her teeth from chattering. No
sound whatever came from the rooms below; the silence somewhat
reassured her. She resolved at once to see if there was any