ered her sitting room, locked the door, threw herself upon the
couch. Round lunch time there came a creaking in the corridor, a
knock. It was David in his wheel chair, propelled by Hamoud.

"No lunch. And perhaps no dinner. It's only a headache, dear. I
shall be all right."

"Your voice sounds----"

"Why not, since I'm suffering a little?"

The creaking sound died away.

At the first glimmer of dawn she was up. An hour later she entered
David's bedroom, dressed, hatted, and gloved. Her skin appeared
translucent. Her hands, drawing her cloak round her shivering body,
seemed almost too weak for that task.

"Why, where are you going?"

"To town. It seems that Parr has fallen ill."

She leaned over him quickly, thinking of all the kisses of betrayal
that had ever been bestowed upon the unaware. She went out leaving him
dumfounded by her appearance of feverish eagerness, energy, and illness.

On the ride to New York she lay back in the corner of the limousine,
her face burning, her lips pressed together. "He thinks I don't love
him, it seems!" That was the tender menace she hurled ahead of her, as
the car carried her swiftly--yet how slowly!--toward his rooms.

She remembered Anna Zanidov.

"The infallible clairvoyant! All that solemn nonsense! Ha, ha, ha!
Ha, ha, ha!"

She found herself at the door of his rooms, ringing, knocking, calling
his name through the panels. She recollected that she had the key in
her purse. The door swung back with a bang, and she ran through the
shaded apartment that was filled with the dull gleaming of weapons.
She stopped before the bed that had not been slept in. She returned to
the living room, and gazed at the withered petals lying round the gourd.

The doorway framed an undersized, obese old man who wore a skullcap of
black silesia. He was the janitor.

"Where is Mr. Teck?"

"Mr. Teck!" the janitor exclaimed in a shocked voice.

The words tumbled out of her mouth:

"He was here yesterday, surely. Didn't he leave any word?"

"Mr. Lawrence Teck?" the old fellow repeated, in consternation.

Behind him hesitated, in passing by, a young man with an inquisitive
face, who had under his arm a leather portfolio. She slammed the door
on them. In the shadowy room the very walls seemed to be crumbling.

She searched everywhere for a note, for some sign that he had been
here; but there was no object in the place not covered with dust.

Then, sunk in a stupo