gentleman--Mr. Challoner--seemed in a great way about it.

Sangster was terribly shocked. He had quite forgotten the manner of
his parting with Jimmy; he was only too willing and anxious to help him
in any way possible. When they reached the hotel he was shown into the
Wyatt's private sitting-room. Jimmy was there at the telephone; he
hung up the receiver as Sangster entered the room; he turned a white,
worried face.

"Awful thing, isn't it?" he said. Even his voice sounded changed; it
had lost its usual light-heartedness.

"It's given me a most awful shock," he said again. "She was as well as
anything last night; nobody had any idea----" He broke off with a
choke in his voice. "Poor little Christine," he said after a moment.
"We can't do anything with her. I wondered if you--but I suppose you
can't," he added hopelessly.

"Where is Miss Wyatt?" Sangster asked. His kind face was very grave,
but there was a steadiness in his eyes--the eyes of a man who might be
trusted.

"She's in her room; we had to take her away forcibly from--from her
mother. . . . You don't know what a hell I've been through, old chap,"
said Jimmy Challoner.

Sangster frowned.

"You!" he said with faint cynicism. "What about that poor little girl,
then; she----" The door opened behind them, and Christine came in.