Merkle eyed the speaker in momentary doubt, then handed him a roll
of bank-notes. "It's a serious business, Bob, but--this is worse,
and we've no time to lose--Jarvis can't stay here. There's
somebody else to consider besides us and--Miss Lynn. I'm thinking
about Mrs. Hammon and the girls." Hammon groaned. "But we mustn't
leave a trail, understand? Now go quickly, and--do the best you
can." He followed Bob to the door and let him out. Instead of
returning to the library, however, Merkle stepped swiftly down the
hall, then, without knocking, opened the door to Lilas Lynn's
bedroom and entered.

Lilas was busied at her dressing-table; an open traveling-bag
jammed with articles of wearing-apparel stood on the bed. At his
entrance she uttered a frightened cry and a silver spoon slipped
from her nerveless fingers. Merkle saw also a little open box with
several compartments, a glass of water, the cap of a pearl-and-
gold fountain-pen, but took scant notice of them, being too deeply
stirred and too much surprised at her appearance. She was no
longer the vital, dashing girl he had known, but a pallid,
cringing wreck of a woman. She shrank back at sight of him,
babbling unintelligible words and cowering as if expecting a blow.

"Did you shoot him?" he asked, grimly.

Shivering, choking, speechless, Lilas stared at him. Her hair was
disarranged; it hung in wisps and strings over her neck and brow;
her eyes were dull and distended, like those of a person just
recovering from the effects of an anesthetic. It was doubtful if
she even recognized him. A repetition of his question brought no
reply.