t
out of sight. Then, with the bag of jewels which Clo had tossed into her
lap, she walked home. Her latch-key opened the door of the flat, she
entered her boudoir, and fell into a chair, sitting as still as the dead
Peterson had sat. It was not much past ten o'clock.

Five minutes later she took off hat and cloak, and peeped into her
bedroom to see if her maid were there. But the room was empty, and she
put away the gray mantle and toque where she had found them. She did not
forget to toss carelessly upon her bed the hat she had worn in the
afternoon, and a pair of white gloves; then she rang for her maid who
came almost at once. She had gone out, Beverley explained quietly, to
help Miss Riley transact a little matter of business.

It was eleven-thirty when Leontine bade her mistress good-night and
softly closed the bedroom door. She had noticed nothing strange in the
manner of Madame, except an unusual lack of vitality.

Left alone, Beverley opened the door of the big, bare room. "Clo," she
called softly.

No answer. She switched on the light. No one was there, and Beverley
hurried on to the little room beyond, which had been Sister Lake's. It,
too, was empty. Something grave, perhaps terrible, had detained the
girl.

"She won't come--she won't come at all." Beverley said aloud. "What
shall I do?" She could not abandon the fragile child who loved her, who
had stood by her with wonderful strength and courage throughout this
dreadful day. Yet what was there she could do?

Roger returned about one o'clock. He moved quietly, as if in order not
to disturb his wife, but she heard the cautious closing of his door. She
did not try or wish to sleep, but lay on her bed, waiting for day.

After six o'clock Beverley could lie still no longer. She stole into her
bathroom, and bathed in cold water. But she felt as utterly spent after
her bath as before.

This morning she did penance by putting on a tailor-made, white linen
suit, of a slightly severe cut, and made her toilet without ringing for
Leontine. She decided to breakfast at the customary hour and in the
customary place, but she did not expect to be joined by Roger. She was
still in her bedroom, fastening a brooch, when he tapped at her door.

"Come in!" she cried, eager for the meeting, yet sick with fear. Roger
came in, fully dressed, looking cool and well groomed. To Beverley's sad
heart it seemed that he had never been so handsome--or so hard.

"Good morning,"