n
early sun was reflected from the high building on the other side of the
street. Wilkins seemed to be moving around, too, which indicated that it
was at least six o'clock.

Johnson Boller stretched and snarled; he had had a wretched night of it!
He was tired all through, as he was always tired when his rest had been
broken. He was ugly as sin, too, and almost at once he found his
ugliness focusing on young David Prentiss.

If Anthony Fry had carried his obsession over into the daylight, if he
still persisted in poking his idiotic opportunity at David and the end
of it did not seem to be in sight, Johnson Boller decided that the empty
flat on Riverside should know its master's presence hereafter
and--Boller sat up in bed, listening.

That was certainly Wilkins's voice, raised in horror--ah, and Wilkins
was hurrying, too. Or no, it couldn't be Wilkins; that was somebody a
good deal lighter, rushing along the corridor. And now the oddest babel
of voices had risen, with Wilkins thrusting in an incoherent word here
and there--and now the voices were growing fainter, all of a sudden, and
he could hear Anthony Fry stirring in the next room.

Something new had happened! Johnson Boller, swinging out of bed, jammed
his feet into his slippers and snatched up his bathrobe. Another night
like this, and he'd be ready for emergency drill with a fire company.

Not that there was any need for haste, though. By the time he had opened
the door and stepped into the living-room the little excitement seemed
to have quieted down again. Anthony, bathrobed also, was just issuing
from his bedroom, and again, for a moment, they gazed at one another.

"What was it that time?" Johnson Boller asked.

"I've no idea. Did you hear it, too?"

"Naturally. I----"

"Why, Wilkins!" Anthony Fry all but gasped, as his servitor appeared in
the doorway. "What under the sun's the matter with you?"

"My--my eye, sir!" choked the faithful one. "It's downright scandalous,
Mr. Fry!"

"What is?"

"The--the woman, sir! The woman that's come to see him!"

His jaw sagged senselessly and his blank eyes regarded his master quite
fishily; and Anthony, after a wondering second or so, scuffed over to
him and snapped:

"What's wrong with you, Wilkins? What woman came?"

"A--a young Frenchwoman, I should judge, sir," Wilkins stammered. "She
came to the door here, getting past the office I don't know how. At any
rate, she came, sir, and said some gibberish a