eceiver from her with a
crash and rushed from the room into the hall. She brushed past her maid
with a wild gesture.

"Never mind my wraps. Open the door, Parkins! Is the carriage waiting?"

"Yes, Milady! Shall--"

But she was past him and down the steps.

"No. 18, Grosvenor Mansions," she cried to the man. "Drive fast."

The man obeyed. The servants, who had come to the door, stood there
a little frightened group. She ignored them and everything else
completely. The carriage had scarcely stopped when she sprang out and
crossed the pavement in a few hasty steps. The tall commissionaire
looked in amazement at her. She wore an opera cloak--she was a
bewildering vision of white satin and diamonds, and her eyes were
terrible with the fear which was in her heart.

She clutched him by the arm.

"Come up with me to Mr. Wingrave's rooms," she exclaimed. "Something
terrible has happened. I heard through the telephone."

The man dashed up the stairs by her side. Wingrave's suite was on the
first floor, and they did not wait for the lift. The commissionaire
put his finger on the bell of the outside door. She leaned forward,
listening breathlessly. Inside all was silence except for the shrill
clamor of the bell.

"Go on ringing," she said breathlessly. "Don't leave off!"

The man looked at her curiously. "Mr. Wingrave came in about an hour ago
with a young man, madam," he said.

"Yes, yes!" she cried. "Listen! There's someone coming."

They heard a hesitating step inside. The door was cautiously opened. It
was Richardson, pale, disheveled, but triumphant, who peered out.

"Mademoiselle--Mademoiselle Violet," he cried. "You have come to see for
yourself. This way!"

She raised her arm and struck him across the face so that, with a little
moan, he staggered back against the wall. Then she hastened forward into
the room towards which he had pointed and the door of which stood open.
The commissionaire followed her. The servants were beginning to appear.

The room was in darkness save for one electric light. A groan, however,
directed them. She fell on her knees by Wingrave's prostrate figure and
raised his head slightly. His servant, too, was hurrying forward. She
looked up.

"Get me some brandy," she ordered. "Send someone for a doctor. Don't let
that young man escape. The brandy, quick!"

She forced some between his lips. There was already a spot of blood upon
the gown which, a few minutes ago, had seemed so imma