head, arguing, and so they reached the corner of Beekman
Place again and turned into it and went straight toward the house
opposite that of John Mark. Still the girl argued, but it was in a
whisper, as if she feared that terrible John Mark might overhear.

* * * * *

In the home of John Mark, that calm leader was still with Ruth Tolliver.
They had gone down to the lower floor of the house, and, at his request,
she sat at the piano, while Mark sat comfortably beyond the sphere of
the piano light and watched her.

"You're thinking of something else," he told her, "and playing
abominably."

"I'm sorry."

"You ought to be," he said. "It's bad enough to play poorly for someone
who doesn't know, but it's torture to play like that for me."

He spoke without violence, as always, but she knew that he was intensely
angry, and that familiar chill passed through her body. It never failed
to come when she felt that she had aroused his anger.

"Why doesn't Caroline come back?" she asked at length.

"She's letting him talk himself out, that's all. Caroline's a clever
youngster. She knows how to let a man talk till his throat is dry, and
then she'll smile and tell him that it's impossible to agree with him.
Yes, there are many possibilities in Caroline."

"You think Ronicky Doone is a gambler?" she asked, harking back to what
he had said earlier.

"I think so," answered John Mark, and again there was that tightening of
the muscles around his mouth. "A gambler has a certain way of masking
his own face and looking at yours, as if he were dragging your thoughts
out through your eyes; also, he's very cool; he belongs at a table with
the cards on it and the stakes high."

The door opened. "Here's young Rose. He'll tell us the truth of the
matter. Has she come back, Rose?"

The young fellow kept far back in the shadow, and, when he spoke, his
voice was uncertain, almost to the point of trembling. "No," he managed
to say, "she ain't come back, chief."

Mark stared at him for a moment and then slowly opened a cigarette case
and lighted a smoke. "Well," he said, and his words were far more
violent than the smooth voice, "well, idiot, what did she do?"

"She done a fade-away, chief, in the house across the street. Went in
with that other gent."

"He took her by force?" asked John Mark.

"Nope. She slipped in quick enough and all by herself. He went in last."

"Damnation!" murmured Mark. "That'