excitement, and uncertainty, and mystery, and intrigue, and lying, and
wriggling out of tight places. I'd have gone mad in this hole long ago,
if I hadn't, for I don't care for sport. But you were intended to develop
into what is called a 'fine woman,' surrounded by the right sort of man
meanwhile. And Price Ruyler is the right sort. I'll say that much for
him. He'd have driven me to drink, but he's just your sort--"

"And what am I doing? I am the most degraded woman in the world."

"Oh, no, you're not. Not by a long sight. You don't know how much worse
you could be. One woman who is here to-night I saw lying dead drunk in
the road between San Mateo and Burlingame the other day when I was
driving with Alice Thorndyke, and Alice is having her fourth or fifth
lover, I forget which--"

"They are no worse than I."

"Listen. He's coming. Got it ready?"

"I can't."

"You must. He'll hound you in the _Merry Tattler_ until the whole town
knows you're a welcher, and not a soul would speak to you. That is the
one unpardonable sin--"

"I wish I'd told Price--"

"Oh, no, you don't. This is just a lovely way out. Glad he had the
inspiration. Hello, Nick."

A man had groped his way between the trees and stood just under
the window.

"What are you doing here?" asked Doremus sourly.

"Witness, witness, my dear Nick. Besides, poor Helene never would have
come alone, so there you are."

"To hell with all this melodramatic business. It could have been done
anywhere--"

"Not much. Dark corners for dark doings."

"Well, hand it over."

Ruyler had given his brain an icy shower bath as soon as he heard his
wife's voice, and was now as cool and alert as even the detective could
have wished. He did not wait for the promised impulse to his elbow; his
hand shot up just ahead of Doremus's and closed over his wife's hand,
which, he felt at once, held the ruby. At the same moment Spaulding
caught Doremus by his medieval collar and shook him until the man's teeth
chattered, then he slapped his face and kicked him.

"Now, you," he said standing over the panting man, who was mopping his
bleeding nose, and holding the electric torch so that it would shine on
his own face. "You get out of California, d'you hear? You're a gambler
and a blackmailer and a panderer to old women, and I've got some
evidence that would drag you into court however it turned out, so's
you'd find this town a live gridiron. So, git, while you can. Go while
t