ed not to have Vandeman in my hair already; but he and his consort
stood in dignified silence; it was his committee who came after me, a
Mephistopheles, a troubadour, an Indian brave, a Hercules with his club,
swarming up the step, wanting to know if I was the man responsible, why
the devil I had done it, who the devil I thought I was, anyhow. Others
were close behind.

"Edwards," I called to the brown friar, "can you keep these fellows off
me for a minute?"

Still not a word from Barbara. Nothing from Vandeman. Less than nothing:
I watched in astonishment how the gorgeous leader stopped dumb, while
those next him backed into the couple behind, side stepping, so that the
whole line yawed, swayed, and began to fall into disorder.

"Cummings," as I glimpsed the lawyer's chain mail and purple feather,
"Keep them all in place if you can. All."

In the instant, from behind my shoulder Barbara spoke.

"Have that man--take off his mask."

A little, shaking white hand pointed at the leader.

"Mr. Vandeman," I said. "That's an order. It'll have to be done."

The words froze everything. Hardly a sound or movement in the great
crowded room, except the little rustle as some one tried to see better.
And there, all eyes on him, Bronson Vandeman stood with his arms at his
sides, mute as a fish. Ina fumbled nervously at the cord of her own
mask, calling to me in a fierce undertone,

"What do you mean, Mr. Boyne, bringing that girl here to spoil things.
This is spite-work."

"Off--take his mask off! Do it yourself!" Barbara's voice was clear and
steady.

I made three big jumps of the space between us and the leading couple.
Vandeman's committee-men obstructed me, the excited yip going amongst
them.

"Vandeman--Bronse--Vannie--Who let this fool in here?--Do we throw him
out?"

Then they took the words from Edwards; the tune changed to grumblings
of, "What's the matter with Van? Why doesn't he settle it one way or
another, and be done?"

Why didn't he? I had but a breath of time to wonder at that, as I shoved
a way through. Darn him, like a graven image there, the only mute,
immovable thing in that turmoil! I began to feel sore.

"You heard what she said?" I took no trouble now to be civil. "She wants
your mask off."

No flicker of response from the man, but the Empress of China dragged
down her mask, crying,

"Heard what she said? What she wants?" Over the shoulders of the crowd
she gave Barbara Wallace a venomous