Wrapping the paper around a coin, and holding it exposed to view,
he showed himself at the window. Below him, to an increasing circle
of hens and pigeons, Nolan was still scattering crumbs. Without
withdrawing his gaze from them, the chauffeur nodded. Wharton
opened his hand and the note fell into the yard. Behind him he
heard the murmur of voices, the sobs of a woman in pain, and the
rattle of a door-knob. As from the window he turned quickly, he saw
that toward the spot where his note had fallen Nolan was tossing
the last remnants of his sandwich.

The girl who entered with Mrs. Earle, leaning on her and supported
by her, was tall and fair. Around her shoulders her blond hair hung
in disorder, and around her waist, under the kimono Mrs. Earle had
thrown about her, were wrapped many layers of bandages. The girl
moved unsteadily and sank into a chair.

In a hostile tone Mrs. Earle addressed her.

"Rose," she said, "this is the district attorney." To him she
added: "She calls herself Rose Gerard."

One hand the girl held close against her side, with the other she
brushed back the hair from her forehead. From half-closed eyes she
stared at Wharton defiantly.

"Well," she challenged, what about it?"

Wharton seated himself in front of the roller-top desk.

"Are you strong enough to tell me?" he asked.