ad fallen loose over her face, and one long, thin hand clutched
still at the bosom of her gown. It was Ellen Butler!

She was living, but not much more. We gathered around and stood looking
down at her in helpless pity. A current of cold night air came up the
staircase from an open door below, and set the hanging light to swaying,
throwing our shadows in a sort of ghastly dance over her quiet face.

I was too much shocked to be surprised. Burton had picked up her hat,
and put it beside her.

"She's got about an hour, I should say," said one of the newspaper men.
"See if Gray is around, will you, Jim? He's mostly here Saturday night."

"Is it--Miss Maitland?" Burton asked, in a strangely subdued voice.

"No; it is Henry Butler's widow," I returned, and the three men were
reporters again, at once.

Gray was there and came immediately. Whatever surprise he may have felt
at seeing a woman there, and dying, he made no comment. He said she
might live six hours, but the end was certain. We got a hospital
ambulance, and with the clang of its bell as it turned the corner and
hurried away, the White Cat drops out of this story, so far as action is
concerned.

Three detectives and as many reporters hunted Schwartz all of that night
and the next day, to get his story. But he remained in hiding. He had a
start of over an hour, from the time he switched off the light and
escaped down the built-in staircase. Even in her agony, Ellen Butler's
hate had carried her through the doorway after him, to collapse on the
stairs.

I got home just as the cab, with Fred and Edith, stopped at the door. I
did not let them get out; a half dozen words, without comment or
explanation, and they were driving madly to the hospital.

Katie let me in, and I gave her some money to stay up and watch the
place while we were away. Then, not finding a cab, I took a car and rode
to the hospital.

The building was appallingly quiet. The elevator cage, without a light,
crept spectrally up and down; my footsteps on the tiled floor echoed and
reechoed above my head. A night watchman, in felt shoes, admitted me,
and took me up-stairs.

There was another long wait while the surgeon finished his examination,
and a nurse with a basin of water and some towels came out of the room,
and another one with dressings went in. And then the surgeon came out,
in a white coat with the sleeves rolled above his elbows, and said I
might go in.

The cover was drawn up to