to view, he showed himself at the window. Below him, to an
increasing circle of hens and pigeons, Nolan was still scattering
crumbs. Without withdrawing his gaze from them, the chauffeur nodded.
Wharton opened his hand and the note fell into the yard. Behind him he
heard the murmur of voices, the sobs of a woman in pain, and the rattle
of a door-knob. As from the window he turned quickly, he saw that toward
the spot where his note had fallen Nolan was tossing the last remnants
of his sandwich.

The girl who entered with Mrs. Earle, leaning on her and supported by
her, was tall and fair. Around her shoulders her blond hair hung in
disorder, and around her waist, under the kimono Mrs. Earle had
thrown about her, were wrapped many layers of bandages. The girl moved
unsteadily and sank into a chair.

In a hostile tone Mrs. Earle addressed her.

"Rose," she said, "this is the district attorney." To him she added:
"She calls herself Rose Gerard."

One hand the girl held close against her side, with the other she
brushed back the hair from her forehead. From half-closed eyes she
stared at Wharton defiantly.

"Well," she challenged, "what about it?"

Wharton seated himself in front of the roller-top desk.

"Are you strong enough to tell me?" he asked.

His tone was kind, and this the girl seemed to resent.

"Don't you worry," she sneered, "I'm strong enough. Strong enough to
tell all I know--to you, and to the papers, and to a jury--until I get
justice." She clinched her free hand and feebly shook it at him. "THAT'S
what I'm going to get," she cried, her voice breaking hysterically,
"justice."

From behind the arm-chair in which the girl half-reclined Mrs. Earle
caught the eye of the district attorney and shrugged her shoulders.

"Just what DID happen?" asked Wharton.

Apparently with an effort the girl pulled herself together.

"I first met your brother-in-law----" she began.

Wharton interrupted quietly.

"Wait!" he said. "You are not talking to me as anybody's brother-in-law,
but as the district attorney."

The girl laughed vindictively.

"I don't wonder you're ashamed of him!" she jeered.

Again she began: "I first met Ham Cutler last May. He wanted to marry me
then. He told me he was not a married man."

As her story unfolded, Wharton did not again interrupt; and speaking
quickly, in abrupt, broken phrases, the girl brought her narrative to
the moment when, as she claimed, Cutler had attempted to ki