had to decide to-night, he would rather return to Marion, Ohio, than join
his staff. Such a retreat from the glories of Chicago would be
inconceivable to old Hitchcock and to the girl. He reflected that he should
not like to put himself away from her forever.

St. Isidore's loomed ahead in the quiet street, its windows dark except for
the night light in the ward kitchens. He should like to turn in there for a
few minutes, to see how the fellow was coming on. The brute ought not to
pull through. But it was too late: a new regime had begun; his little
period of sway had passed, leaving as a last proof of his art this human
jetsam saved for the nonce. And there rose in his heated mind the pitiful
face of a resolute woman, questioning him: "You held the keys of life and
death. Which have you given _me_?"




CHAPTER V


The Athenian Building raises its knife-like facade in the centre of
Chicago, thirteen stories in all; to the lake it presents a broad wall of
steel and glass. It is a hive of doctors. Layer after layer, their offices
rise, circling the gulf of the elevator-well. At the very crown of the
building Dr. Frederick H. Lindsay and his numerous staff occupy almost the
entire floor. In one corner, however, a small room embedded in the heavy
cornice is rented by a dentist, Dr. Ephraim Leonard. The dentist's office
is a snug little hole, scarcely large enough for a desk, a chair, a case of
instruments, a "laboratory," and a network of electric appliances. From the
one broad window the eye rests upon the blue shield of lake; nearer, almost