verdict was reported.



XIII

On leaving the house of the dead man
Diotti walked wearily to his hotel.
In flaring type at every street corner he
saw the announcement for Thursday
evening, March thirty-first, of Angelo
Diotti's last appearance: ``To-night I
play for the last time,'' he murmured in
a voice filled with deepest regret.

The feeling of exultation so common
to artists who finally reach the goal of
their ambition was wanting in Diotti this
morning. He could not rid himself of
the memory of Sanders' tragic death.
The figure of the old man clutching the
violin and staring with glassy eyes into
the dying fire would not away.

When he reached the hotel he tried to
rest, but his excited brain banished
every thought of slumber. Restlessly
he moved about the room, and finally
dressing, he left the hotel for his daily
call on Mildred. It was after five o'clock