m. With this in her mind she opened the front door and stepped into
the hall, always lighted with ominous dimness. That gloom fell about her
like the visible presence of John Mark.

A squat, powerful figure glided out of the doorway to the right. It was
Harry Morgan, and the side of his face was swathed in bandages, so that
he had to twist his mouth violently in order to speak.

"The chief," he said abruptly. "Beat it quick to his room. He wants
you."

"Why?" asked Caroline, hoping to extract some grain or two of
information from the henchman.

"Listen, kid," said the sullen criminal. "D'you think I'm a nut to blow
what I know? You beat it, and he'll tell you what he wants."

The violence of this language, however, had given her clues enough to
the workings of the chief's mind. She had always been a favored member
of the gang, and the men had whistled attendance on her hardly less than
upon Ruth Tolliver herself. This sudden harshness in the language of
Harry Morgan told her that too much was known, or guessed.

A sudden weakness came over her. "I'm going out," she said, turning to
Harry Morgan who had sauntered over to the front door.

"Are you?" he asked.

"I'm going to take one turn more up the block. I'm not sleepy yet," she
repeated and put her hand on the knob of the door.

"Not so you could notice it, you ain't," retorted Morgan. "We've taken
lip enough from you, kid. Your day's over. Go up and see what the chief
has to say, but you ain't going through this door unless you walk over
me."

"Those are orders?" she asked, stepping back, with her heart turning
cold.

"Think I'm doing this on my own hook?"

She turned slowly to the stairs. With her hand on the balustrade she
decided to try the effect of one personal appeal. Nerving herself she
whirled and ran to Harry Morgan. "Harry," she whispered, "let me go out
till I've worked up my courage. You know he's terrible to face when he's
angry. And I'm afraid, Harry--I'm terribly afraid!"

"Are you?" asked Morgan. "Well, you ain't the first. Go and take your
medicine like the rest of us have done, time and time running."

There was no help for it. She went wearily up the stairs to the room of
the master thief. There she gave the accustomed rap with the proper
intervals. Instantly the cold, soft voice, which she knew and hated so,
called to her to enter.

She found him in the act of putting aside his book. He was seated in a
deep easy-chair; a dressing