huddled in the corner, panting, his face pale with alarm.

"What the devil ails you?" roared Ford. "Are you trying to shake me?
You've got to come back. You must speak to her."

"Speak to her!" repeated Ashton. His voice was sunk to a whisper. The
look of alarm in his face was confused with one grim and menacing. "Did
you know she was there?" he demanded softly. "Did you take me there,
knowing--?"

"Of course I knew," protested Ford. "She's been looking for you--"

His voice subsided in a squeak of amazement and pain. Ashton's left hand
had shot out and swiftly seized his throat. With the other he pressed an
automatic revolver against Ford's shirt front.

"I know she's been looking for me," the man whispered thickly. "For two
years she's been looking for me. I know all about HER! But, WHO IN HELL
ARE YOU?"

Ford, gasping and gurgling, protested loyally.

"You are wrong!" he cried. "She's been at home waiting for you. She
thinks you have deserted her and your baby. I tell you she loves you,
you fool, she LOVES you!"

The fingers on his throat suddenly relaxed; the flaming eyes of Ashton,
glaring into his, wavered and grew wide with amazement.

"Loves me," he whispered. "WHO loves me?"