y feet, my heart pounding, my forehead cold and wet. I told
myself that she must be safe, that wholesale killing could not be
the aim of these wretches, that the gray automobile was not what our
one-cent sheets in their tales of gunmen like to call a "murder car."
But what did I know about it? I was in a funk, a funk of the bluest
variety. In that one age-long moment I learned what sheer fright meant.

Without knowing how I got there, I found myself in the gallery. The
doors that lined it were rickety and worm-eaten; I stared weakly at
them. A mere twist of practised fingers, and they could be forced open
by any one who cared to try. I thought I heard a faint breathing inside
the girl's room, but I was not sure; I was too rattled. Very guardedly
I knocked and got no answer. Then, in utter panic, I knocked louder, at
risk of disturbing the whole house.

"Georges, _c'est vous_?" It was the drowsiest of murmurs, but few things
have been so welcome to me in all my life.

"Yes, Mademoiselle." Though my knees were wobbling under me I summoned
presence of mind to impersonate the poor huddled mass of flesh in the
garage.

"_Attendez donc!_"

I could hear her stirring; she believed I had come with some summons,
with some news. Well, it was imperative that I should see her. I waited
obediently until the door swung open and revealed her in a loose robe
of blue, with her hair in a ruddy mass about her shoulders and the sleep
still lingering in her eyes.

"Mr. Bayne!"

Such was my relief at finding my fears uncalled for that I could
have danced a breakdown on that crazy gallery, snapping my fingers in
castanet fashion above my head. I had forgotten entirely the strained
terms of our parting; but she remembered. A bright wave of scarlet ran
over her face, her neck, her forehead. She gasped, clutched her robe
about her, would have shut the door if I had not foreseen the strategic
movement and inserted a foot in the diminishing crack, just in time.

"I beg your pardon," I began hastily. "I am really extremely sorry. But
something has occurred that forces me to speak to you."

"There can be nothing that forces you to come here--nothing!" Her lips
were trembling; her voice wavered; the apparent shamelessness of my
behavior was driving her to the verge of tears. "Is there no place where
I am safe from you? Mr. Bayne, how can you? I shan't listen to a single
word while you keep your foot in the door!"

"And I can't take it away