ng her head, she tried to eye the pair with airy
arrogance.

"I mustn't seem to care," she thought, and tried to wither them with a
look before again attacking the keyhole. The woman was beautiful, a
glorious, dark creature, gorgeously dressed and jewelled. But oddly it
was the man who riveted Clo's attention, the man whose eyes gave the
girl an electric shock. He was a tall, lanky, middle-aged individual,
with auburn hair and a close-cut red beard streaked with gray. He walked
with shoulders bent, and had no distinction, despite his well-cut
evening clothes. But from under a pair of beetling black brows there
flashed a light which took Clo's breath away. She didn't know what to
make of his look. It was as if she'd been struck by lightning.

"My goodness, after all he must be a friend of O'Reilly's!" she feared.
Even that supposition wasn't enough to account for the flash.
Frightened, she slid the key into the lock, and almost falling into the
room slammed the door behind her. She did not need to lock it, for
without a key it could not be opened from the outside.

"I can hold the fort a few minutes now, whatever happens!"

In the corridor John Heron and his wife lingered in front of their own
door.

"Well, if that's not the queerest thing I ever saw or heard of!" Heron
exclaimed.

Coming out of their suite, they had caught an impressionist glimpse of a
figure in white bent over the keyhole, then the figure had stooped for
the dropped key, and mechanically they had paused in surprise.

"I wonder if she's made a mistake in the room?" Mrs. Heron had
whispered, and Heron had returned:

"Yes, I think that must be so. She'll find it out and go somewhere else.
O'Reilly isn't----"

There he had stopped short when the girl raised her head to face them;
and when she presently vanished into his friend's room like a whirlwind,
he neither finished his sentence nor answered his wife.

"What's the matter, Jack?" Mrs. Heron asked. "How odd you look!"

("Jack" was not a nickname that suited Heron, but his wife thought it
debonair.)

"Why don't you speak?" she persisted.

"I was thinking," Heron said at last.

"Thinking what we ought to do?" his wife caught him up. "Shall we knock
and ask O'Reilly if he's ready to go down with us?"

"No. We can't do that."

"I suppose not. But weren't you going to say it isn't like O'Reilly to
have a girl calling on him in his rooms?"

"I don't remember what I was going to say," he