beneath, the river itself lay like a sheet of metal, glittering
here and there with the yellow lights of ships. Blackwell's Island
slipped under them, an inky bottomless pit of despair, out of
which points of fire gleamed upward--like faint, steady-burning
sparks of hope in the hearts of miserable men. The breath of the
overheated city changed as by magic, and the thin-faced sufferer
at Lorelei's side drank it in eagerly. Even in the dim flash of
the passing illuminations she noted how tired and worn he was, and
a sudden pity smote her.

"Won't you pretend I'm not here, and drive just as you always do?
I won't mind," she said.

"My dear, it's late. You'll need to get home."

"No, no."

"Really?" His eagerness was genuine. "Won't your people worry?"

Her answer was a short, mirthless laugh that made him glance at
her curiously. "They know I'm perfectly safe. It's the other way
round: a man of your standing takes chances by being alone with a
woman of--mine"

"Which reminds me of Miss Lynn and Mr. Hammon. You've decided to
accept my offer?"

"No. I can't be a hired spy."

"You said over the 'phone that you had learned something."