Warren Gregory, setting the telephone back upon the desk, nodded
gravely.

Rachael made no comment. For a moment her eyes widened nervously,
and a little shudder rippled through her. Then silently she
gathered up the leather belt and chains of beads that she had been
loosening as she listened, and slowly went toward the door.

They did not speak again of Clarence that night, although they
chatted easily for the next hour on other topics, even laughing a
little as the various episodes of the evening were passed in
review.

But Rachael did not sleep, nor did she sleep during the long hours
of the following night. On the third night she wakened her husband
suddenly from his sleep.

"Greg--Greg! Won't you talk to me a little? I'm going mad, I
think!"

"Rachael! What is it?" stammered the doctor, blinking in the dim
light of Rachael's bedside lamp. His wife, haggard, with her rich
hair falling in two long braids over her shoulders, was sitting on
the side of his bed. "What is it, darling--hear something?" he
asked, more naturally, putting his arm about her.

"I've been lying awake--and lying awake!" said Rachael, panting.
"I haven't shut my eyes--it's nearly three. Greg, I keep seeing
it--Clarence's face, you know, with that horrible scar! What shall