n a kindly, patient manner, to be trying to
understand the meaning of the situation.

"Jacqueline," I cried, "you are not hurt? Thank God you are not hurt.
What has happened?"

"I don't know," she answered. "I don't know where I am."

I kneeled down at her side and put my arms about her.

"Jacqueline, dear;" I said, "will you not try to think? I am
Paul--your friend Paul. Do you not remember me?"

"No, monsieur," she sighed.

"But, then, how did you come here, Jacqueline?" I asked.

"I do not know," she answered. And, a moment later, "I do not know,
Paul."

That encouraged me a little. Evidently she remembered what I had just
said to her.

"Where is your home, Jacqueline?"

"I do not know," she answered in an apathetic voice, devoid of interest.

There was something more to be said, though it was hard.

"Jacqueline, who--was--that?"

"Who?" she inquired, looking at me with the same patient, wistful gaze.

"That man, Jacqueline. That dead man."

"What dead man, Paul?"

She was staring straight at the body, and at that moment I realized
that she not only did not remember, but did not even see it.

The shock which she had received, supervening upon the nervous state in
which she had been when I encountered her, had produced one of those
mental inhibitions in which the mind, to save the reason, obliterates
temporarily not only all memory of the past, but also all present
sights and sounds which may serve to recall it. She looked idly at the
body of the dead man, and I was sure that she saw nothing but the worn
woodwork of the floor.

I saw that it was useless to say anything more upon this subject.

"You are very tired, Jacqueline?" I asked.

"Yes, _monsieur_," she answered, leaning back against my arm.

"And you would like to sleep?"

"Yes, _monsieur_."

I raised her in my arms and laid her on the bed, telling her to close
her eyes and sleep. She was asleep almost immediately after her head
rested Upon the pillow. She breathed as softly as an infant.

I watched her for a while until I heard a distant clock strike three.
This recalled me to the dangers of our situation. I struck a match and
lit the gas in the bedroom. But the yellow glare was so ghastly and
intolerable that I turned it down.

And then I set about the task before me.

CHAPTER III

COVERING THE TRACKS

I thought quickly, and my consciousness seemed to embrace all the
details of the situation with a keenne