I turned into the building. Even the sound of my footsteps was
foreign; the whole place was pregnant with stillness and shadow;
life was gone out. It was fearful; I felt the terror clutching
upon me, a grimness that may not be spoken; there was something
breaking within me. I had pledged myself for a year. Frankly I was
afraid.

But I had given my word. I returned to my apartments and began
that very day the closing down of my practice. In a fortnight I
had completed everything and had moved my things to the room of
Chick Watson.




XIII

ALBERT JEROME


Just as soon as possible I hurried over to Berkeley. I went
straight to the bungalow on Dwight Way; I inquired for Miss
Holcomb. She was a woman now in her late twenties, decidedly
pretty, a blonde, and of intelligent bearing.

Coming on such an errand, I was at a loss just how to approach
her. I noted the little lines about the corners of her eyes, the
sad droop of her pretty mouth. Plainly she was worried. As I was
removing my hat she caught sight of the ring upon my finger.