tongue, as with a furious heave Gard shook him off, entered the cab and
slammed the door. Denning stood for a moment surprised into inaction,
then, with an order to follow, he leaped into his own car and started in
pursuit.

When Gard reached the familiar entrance, his anxiety had grown, like
physical pain, almost to the point where human endurance ceases and
becomes brute suffering. He felt cornered and helpless. At the door of
Mrs. Marteen's apartment a sort of unreasoning rage filled him. To ring;
the bell seemed a futility; he wanted to break in the painted glass and
batter down the door. The calm expression of the butler who answered his
summons was like a personal insult. Were they all mad that they did not
realize?

"Where is Mrs. Marteen?" he demanded hoarsely.

The servant shook his head. "She left two hours ago, at least," he
answered, with a glance toward the hall clock.

"What did she say--what message did she leave?" Gard pushed by him
impatiently, making for the stairs leading to the upper floor and the
library.

The butler stared. "Why, nothing, sir. She asked for Miss Dorothy, and
when none of us could tell her where she went, or why--which we all
thought queer enough, sir--she didn't seem surprised; so I suppose she
knows, sir. Madam just went upstairs to the library first, and then to
Miss Dorothy's room--the maid saw her, sir--and then she came down and
went out. She had on a heavy veil, but she looked scarce fit to stand
for all that, and she went--never said a word about her baggage or