Through the long, hours of the night Gard lay awake, living over the
gruesome moments spent in the ill-omened house on Washington Square. The
ghastly face of the dead man seemed to stare at him from every corner of
the luxurious room.

Had he done wisely, Gard wondered, in setting the scene of robbery? Had
he done it convincingly? That he could become involved in the case in
another character than that of witness, occurred to him, but he
dismissed it with a shrug. He was able, he felt, to cope with any
situation. Nevertheless, the valuables he had taken from the corpse
seemed to take on bulk. He thanked his stars that his valet was not with
him--at least he would not have to consider the ever present danger of
discovery. He had hoped to dispose of the compromising articles while
crossing the ferry, but when, on his suggestion of the benefits of cool
night air, he had descended from the motor and advanced to the rail,
Denning had accompanied him and remained at his elbow, discussing future
moves in their giant financial game. Once on board the private car, he
had considered disposing of the jewels from the car window or the
observation platform, but abandoned that scheme as worse than useless.
The track walkers' inevitable discovery would only bring suspicion upon
someone traveling along the line--and who but himself must eventually he
suspected?

There was nothing for it but to break up the horde piece by piece and
lose the compromising gems in unrecognizable fragments. The impulse was
upon him to switch on the electrics and begin the work of destruction
here in his stateroom at once. But he feared Denning; he feared Langley.
Then his thoughts reverted to Mrs. Marteen. Where was she? Where was she
hiding? Had she made away with herself after her desperate deed? His
heart ached and yearned toward her while his senses revolted in horror