ored strongly
of contempt. Evidently Shaw didn't care where he was, so long as he was
outside of the house.

Neither dared he sum up the case against Doris, though he could not for
a moment banish from his mind the picture of her as she had stood with
her back to him and his four assailants. Why had she stood thus?
Because she was indifferent to any fate that befell him? Or because she
was numbed by her own misery? Crowding forward with these questions was
a sick fear for her, alone in that sinister house with four thugs and an
old hag whose sole human quality seemed to be a sardonic sense of humor
exercised at his, Laurie's, expense.

What might happen to her? What might be happening even now? And what
assurance had he that even if he again succeeded in entering the house,
a very remote possibility, he could accomplish anything against Shaw and
his companions? Oh, if only he had waited and brought Rodney with him!
Together, he felt, the two of them could have met and overcome a
regiment of men like Shaw and his secretary.

A wild impulse came to him to take Burke with him in his second effort,
but an appraising look at that seedy individual checked it. He was
convinced that Burke could neither fight nor keep his mouth shut. Owing
to his promise to Doris, police help, of course, was out of the
question. No, he must go back alone. But this time there would be no
semi-ignominious departure. He would either bring Doris away, or he
would remain there with her. And if Shaw wanted trouble, he'd get it,
and it would be the real thing.

That afternoon, on his first visit to The Cedars, his new instinct of
caution had made him leave behind him the little revolver he had
brought. He knew his own hot temperament too well to risk carrying it,
and he had an arrogant faith in his own physical strength which, as a
rule, had been justified. Now, however, he retrieved the weapon, and
with a sudden tightening of the lips dropped it into his overcoat
pocket.

When he was dressed he went out to look over his car. Burke, who was
evidently fascinated by the slender racer, rose from an admiring
inspection of the engine as its owner approached.

"She's ready any minute now," he reported. "She's had gas, oil, and air,
and I've put on the chains. Thought you'd want 'em, in this storm."

Laurie nodded and glanced out at the window. The storm had developed
into a blizzard. His optimism, somewhat numbed in the past hour,
reasserted itself