desperate appeal. The terrified maid stood by, wringing her hands.

"Gard!" she called. "Marcus Gard! help me! Tell me--I'll believe
you--I'll believe you--will you tell me the truth!" Her strength left
her suddenly, and as the physician placed a supporting arm about her,
she sank back, her eyes closed wearily. As he laid her gently back upon
the pillows, she sighed softly, her heavy lids unclosed a moment. "I
knew you'd come," she murmured. "You'll take care of--of Dorothy--you
will--" Her voice trailed off into nothingness; then "Marcus"--she
whispered.

The two men turned away. Brencherly coughed. "Is there any hope?" he
asked, breaking the tense silence that seemed suddenly to have entered
the room like an actual presence.

The doctor nodded without speaking. "Yes--hope," he said at length, as
he opened his leather satchel.

* * * * *




XIII


It was well into the small hours of the morning when Brencherly sought
his own rooms in an inconspicuous apartment hotel, where he, his
activities and, at times, strange companions, were not only tolerated,
but welcomed. He was weary, but too excited and elated to desire sleep.