"I hope we don't lose him," muttered Denning.

Alone in the silence of his swaying room, Gard threw himself face down
upon the bed. He could not reason any longer. His whole being gave way
to a voiceless cry. He shook as if with cold, and beat his hands
rhythmically on the pillows. He rolled over at last, and lay staring at
the curved ceiling of the car. One thought obsessed him. She had been
there, in that room, hidden--watching him, doubtless, as he committed
the ghastly theft. Even in the awful situation in which she found
herself, what must she think of _him_? Criminal, blackmailer, murderess,
perhaps--but what could she think of him? The blood tingled through his
veins and his waxen face flushed scarlet with vivid shame. In his
weakened, overwrought condition, this aspect of the case outranked all
others. He forgot the horrible publicity that threatened not only
Dorothy and her mother but Victor Mahr's son--when the motive of the
crime was learned. He forgot the yearning of his soul for the saving of
its sister spirit. He forgot the dread vision of the chair of death in
the keen personal shame of the creature she must believe him to be.

Suddenly a new angle of the case presented itself--Brencherly! He sat up
gasping. Brencherly must have guessed--the inevitable logic of the
situation led straight to the solution of the enigma. The detective knew
of Mahr's efforts to obtain the combination of Mrs. Marteen's safe; he,
himself, had told him that those efforts had been successful. Brencherly
knew of Mrs. Marteen's sudden return, her visit to her home and her
mysterious disappearance. The motive of the murder was supplied, the
disappearance accounted for. Already the detective's trained mind had
doubtless pieced together the fragments of these broken lives. It was
Brencherly who had told him of Mahr's former marriage. Everything,