"I telephoned twice yesterday," she rushed on quickly, pleadingly,
"and once last night and again this morning. There was no--no answer.
Gene, I couldn't stand it. I had to come."

"It's only that he didn't happen to be within hearing of the
telephone bell," he assured her. But her steadfast, accusing eyes
read more than that in his face, and her hands trembled on his arm.

"I'm afraid, Gene, I'm afraid," she declared desperately. "Suppose--
suppose something _has_ happened?"

"It's absurd," and he attempted to laugh off her uneasiness. "Why,
nothing could have happened."

"All those millions of dollars' worth of diamonds, Gene," she
reminded him, "and he is--I shouldn't have left him alone."

"Why, my dear Doris," and Mr. Wynne gathered the slender, trembling
figure in his arms protectingly, "not one living soul, except you and
I, knows that they are there. There's no incentive to robbery, my
dear--a poor, shabby little cottage like that. There is not the
slightest danger."

"There is always danger, Gene," she contradicted. "It makes me
shudder just to think of it. He is so old and so feeble, simple as
a child, and utterly helpless if anything should happen. Then, when
I didn't hear from him after trying so many times over the telephone
--I'm afraid, Gene, I'm afraid," she concluded desperately.

The long-pent-up tears came, and she buried her face on his shoulder.