ch at a time, keeping a chair
between herself and Dalton, her eyes watching his every expression, her
right hand stretched along the wall.

"Still at it, are you? Well, get through, and hurry up. I'll go where I
please, and you'll come when I want you. Everybody is inquiring for you
down at the house, and I promised them you would be back to-night, and
you will. You were a fool to leave. It's a lot better than this. From
what I heard last night, from one of Rosenthal's girls, I thought you
had moved into something palatial."

She had reached the bedroom door now, and her hand was on the knob.

"Yes--that's right," he said, mistaking her purpose, "get into your
wraps, and--"

The door closed with a sudden bang, and the inside bolt was pushed
tight.

Dalton stood with his hands in his pockets. "Oh, that's the game, is
it?" he called, in a loud voice. He saw he had been outwitted, and an
oath escaped him. He saw, too, that the door was a heavy one, and the
effort to force it might bring in the neighbors. "Well, there's no
hurry. I can wait," he added savagely, "but if you know what's good for
you, you'll come out now."

She had sunk down on her bed, hardly daring to breathe. Her only hope
now lay in Martha, and she might not come back for an hour.

Dalton sauntered away from the door and began an inspection of the room.
The box on the chair came first. He lifted the lid and drew out the
mantilla. "Rather good, this--wonder how she got hold of it--Oh, yes, I
see, she must be repairing it. There are her work-basket and the spools
of black silk."

He turned to the box again and read the name of "Rosenthal" stencilled
on the bottom. "So that is what she is doing--they did not tell me what
she worked at." He spread out the mantilla again and looked it over
carefully. Then a smile of cunning crossed his face. "Just what I want,"
he said, folding it up and tucking it inside his capacious cape.

He now made a tour of the room, his tread like that of a cat, lifted the
plates on the dresser as if in search of something behind them, rummaged
through the work-basket, opening and turning the leaves of a book lying
on the table. So occupied was he that he did not hear Martha's noiseless
step nor know that she had entered the room.

For a moment she stood watching his every movement. The man she saw was
well-knit and rather handsome, not much over thirty, with clean-shaven
face, drooping eyelids, and a hard-set lower jaw. She