od
fellow, but a rattle-brain--tells everything he knows. Run behind that
red screen, and when I've got him into his own room, which I'll do
somehow in a few minutes, I'll take you to a taxi, and drive home with
you if it can be managed."

I whisked behind the screen, peeping out to whisper: "Better hide the
khaki coat if you don't want questions!"

Eagle took my advice, handing me the coat to keep for him as he passed
on his way to the door. There was plenty of room to stand behind the
screen without flattening myself against the wall. And without danger of
being seen I could look through the interstices between the leaves of
the screen into the brightly lighted room.

I heard Eagle's footsteps on the parquet floor of the vestibule. I heard
the click of the latch as he opened the door. After that, instead of a
loud, jolly greeting from his friend, there was dead silence for an
instant. Then a woman's voice spoke in a low tone of intense and
passionate eagerness. I had never heard it speak in that tone before.
But with a shock of surprise and fear, I recognized the voice: it was
Diana's.

CHAPTER XXV

My heart stood still. Thinking calmly, it seemed that Diana had no power
to harm Eagle March. I had the coat which betrayed Sidney. Eagle had the
written message, and his friend in America had the notebook out of which
it had been torn. The chain of our evidence was complete. It could not
be broken. Eagle had long ago seen through Diana and ceased to worship
her. Surely she could do nothing with him now, no matter how shamefully
she might humble herself. But I could not think calmly. And as I heard
her sweet, imploring voice, begging to come in, as I realized that Eagle
could not shut her out, a heavy presentiment of failure weighed upon me.
I braced myself to be ready for anything that might happen, ready to
spring from behind the screen and confront Diana if need came.

"If you ever cared for me, if you have any pity for an unhappy woman,
let me in--let me speak to you," were the words I heard her say, in a
voice like the wail of harp-strings. Its pathos would have been
irresistible to any man, even if he had never loved her. Eagle March let
Diana come in, though I heard him protesting that his friend Jim White
might arrive at any moment.

"What does it matter?" she cried; and with the words she was at the
study door. Through the leaves of the tall screen I saw her trail in, a
figure of beauty in her whi