"Where's the woman?"

"She's outside in a taxi."

"Is she over eighteen?"

"Yes."

Lane expected the question as to who the woman was. It was singular
that the magistrate neglected to ask this, the first query offered by
every minister Lane has visited.

"Fetch her in," he said.

Lane went outside and hesitated at the car door, for he had an
intuitive flash which made him doubtful. But what if Hartley did make
a show of this marriage? The marriage itself was the vital thing. Lane
helped Mel out of the car and led her up the icy steps. The maid again
opened the door.

"Mr. Lane, walk right in," said Hartley. "Of course, it's natural for
the lady to be a little shy, but then if she wants to be married at
this hour she must not mind my family and guests. They can be
witnesses."

He spoke in a voice in which Lane's ears detected insincerity. "Be
seated, and wait until I get my book," he continued, and left the
room.

Hartley had hardly glanced at Mel, and her veil had hidden her
features. He had gone toward his study rubbing his hands in a peculiar
manner which Lane remembered and which recalled the man as he had
looked many a time in the Bradford billiard room when a good joke was
going the rounds. Lane saw him hurry from his study with pleasant
words of invitation to his guests, a mysterious air about him, a light
upon his face. The ladies and gentlemen rose from their tables and
advanced from the library to the door of the drawing-room. A girl of
striking figure seized Hartley's arm and gesticulated almost wildly.
It was Helen Wrapp. Her husband laughed at her and waved a hand
toward the drawing-room and his guests. Turning swiftly with tigerish
grace, she bent upon Lane great green eyes whose strange expression he
could not fathom. What passionately curious eyes did she now fasten on
his prospective bride!

Lane gripped Mel's hand. He felt the horror of what might be coming.
What a blunder he had made!

"Will the lady kindly remove her veil?" Hartley's voice sounded queer.
His smile had vanished.

As Mel untied and thrust back the veil her fingers trembled. The
action disclosed a lovely face as white as snow.

"_Mel Iden_!" burst from the magistrate. For a moment there was an
intense silence. Then, "I'll not marry you," cried Hartley
vindictively.

"Why not? You said you would," demanded Lane.

"Not to save your worthless lives," Hartley returned, facing them with
a dark meaning in his eyes.