him. He was extremely interested and increasingly cheerful. He
remained well behind, and with his newspaper rolled in his hand
assumed the easy yet brisk walk of the commuters around him, bound
for home and their early suburban dinners.

Half way along Station Street Gregory stopped before the Livingstone
house, read the sign, and rang the doorbell. The reporter slowed
down, to give him time for admission, and then slowly passed. In
front of Harrison Miller's house, however, he stopped and waited.
He lighted a cigarette and made a careful survey of the old place.
Strange, if this were to prove the haven where Judson Clark had taken
refuge, this old brick two-story dwelling, with its ramshackle stable
in the rear, its small vegetable garden, its casual beds of simple
garden flowers set in a half acre or so of ground.

A doctor. A pill shooter. Jud Clark!




IX

Elizabeth had gone about all day with a smile on her lips and a sort
of exaltation in her eyes. She had, girl fashion, gone over and
over the totally uneventful evening they had spent together,
remembering small speeches and gestures; what he had said and she
had answered.

She had, for instance, mentioned Clare Rossiter, very casually. Oh
very, very casually. And he had said: "Clare Rossiter? Oh, yes,