," he said, gravely. "I am
curious to know what is going to happen to-morrow and other to-morrows."

Somewhere near by a door was slammed violently. Kitty, every muscle in
her body tense, jumped convulsively, with the result that her finger
pressed automatically the trigger of her pistol. The fan popped out
gayly.

Hawksley stared at the fan, quite as astonished as Kitty. Then he broke
into low, rollicking laughter, which Kitty, because her basic corpuscle
was Irish, perforce had to join. For all her laughter she retreated,
furious and alarmed.

"Fancy! I say, now, you're jolly plucky to face a scoundrel like me with
that."

"I don't just know what to make of you," said Kitty, irresolutely,
flinging the fan into a corner.

"You have revivified a celestial spark--my faith in human beings. I beg
of you not to be afraid of me. I am quite harmless. I am very grateful
for the meal. Yours is the one act of kindness I have known in weeks. I
will return to Gregor's apartment at once. But before I go please accept
this. I rather suspect, you know, that you live alone, and that fan is
amusing and not particularly suitable." He rose and unsmilingly laid
upon the table one of those heavy blue-black bull-dogs of war, a
regulation revolver. Kitty understood what this courteous act signified;
he was disarming himself to reassure her.

"Sit down," she ordered. Either he was harmless or he wasn't. If he
wasn't she was utterly at his mercy. She might be able to lift that
terrible-looking engine of murder, battle, and sudden death with the aid
of both hands, but to aim and fire it--never in this world! "As I came
in to-night I found a note in the hall from Mr. Gregory. I will fetch
it. But you call him Gregor?"

"His name is Stefani Gregor; and years and years ago he dandled me on
his knees. I promise not to move until you return."

Subdued by she knew not what, no longer afraid, Kitty moved out of the
kitchen. She had offered Gregory's letter as an excuse to reach the
telephone. Once there, however, she did not take the receiver off the
hook. Instead she whistled down the tube for the janitor.

"This is Miss Conover. Come up to my apartment in ten minutes.... No;
it's not the water pipes.... In ten minutes."

Nothing very serious could happen inside of ten minutes; and the janitor
was reliable and not the sort one reads about in the comic weeklies. Her
confidence reenforced by the knowledge that a friend was near, she took
t