and tell him frankly, if he was to continue to play a part. He
would know whether this was tragedy or comedy, first of all.

He had, indeed, reached some conclusions already. These might not be
correct, yet they were already implanted in his mind. The guests of the
night were mere puppets, having no real connection with the game being
played, utterly ignorant of what was going on behind the scenes. The only
one present having any real part was Percival Coolidge, and West had
taken an instinctive dislike to this man. Moreover, he had some reason to
believe this feeling was warmly reciprocated; that the latter already
suspected and watched him. Only one explanation flashed into his mind to
account for Miss Coolidge's unexpected announcement of an engagement
between them--this would excuse any future intimacy; would enable them to
meet alone freely without arousing comment. She had deliberately chosen
this course to disarm suspicion, and had failed to warn him in advance
that she might test his nerve and discretion. This appealed to him as the
most reasonable explanation of the situation. But beyond this vague
guess, it was impossible to delve. He possessed no facts, no knowledge;
he could only keep faith in her, and wait the time of explanation.

Tired by the uselessness of such thinking West finally sought the bed,
and must have slept, although scarcely aware that he had closed his eyes.

Some slight noise aroused him. The door leading into the hall, which he
had failed to lock, stood partially ajar, and his eyes caught the vague
glimpse of a figure gliding swiftly through the opening. With one bound
he was upon his feet, springing recklessly forward. The hall was dark,
but for a patch of moonlight at the further end. Against this he caught
an instant, flitting glimpse of the intruder. It was a woman, yet even
as his eyes told him this, she seemed to vanish into thin air--the hall
was empty.

CHAPTER IV

MISS COOLIDGE EXPLAINS

Vague and indistinct as was that fleeting vision in the moonlight, West
felt no doubt as to the identity of his visitor--the woman was Natalie
Coolidge. His one glimpse of her vanishing figure assured him of this
fact, and he drew back instantly, unwilling to follow. Where she had gone
he neither knew, nor cared. She had come to his room secretly, supposing
him asleep, and this surprising knowledge dominated his mind. What could
such an act mean? This was certainly a home of respectab