are several possible explanations.... How long has Drummond known
that you were alive?"

"Since noon to-day."

"Not before?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Still, it's possible. If he has a sensitive nature--I think he
hasn't--the shame of being found out, caught trying to marry your wife
when he had positive knowledge you still lived, may have driven him to
drop out of sight. Again.... May I ask, what was the extent of your
property in his trust?"

"A couple of hundred-thousands."

"And he believed you dead and was unable to find your widow ..."

"Oh, I don't think _that_!" Whitaker expostulated.

"Nor do I. We're merely considering possible explanations. There's a
third ..."

"Well?"

"He may have received a strong hint that he was nominated for the fate
that overtook young Custer, Hamilton and Thurston; and so planned to
give his disappearance the colour of a similar end."

"You don't mean to say _you_ think there was any method in that train of
tragedies?"

"I'm not in the least superstitious, my dear man. I don't for an instant
believe, as some people claim to, that Sara Law is a destroying angel,
hounded by a tragic fate: that her love is equivalent to the death
warrant of the man who wins it."

"But what do you think, then?"

"I think," said Ember, slowly, his gaze on the table, "that some one
with a very strong interest in keeping the young woman single--and on
the stage--"

"Max! Impossible!"

Ember shrugged. "In human nature, no madness is impossible. There's not
a shred of evidence against Jules Max. And yet--he's a gambler. All
theatrical managers are, of course; but Max is a card-fiend. The tale of
his plunging runs like wild-fire up and down Broadway, day by day. A
dozen times he's been on the verge of ruin, yet always he has had Sara
Law to rely upon; always he's been able to fall back upon that asset,
sure that her popularity would stave off bankruptcy. And he's
superstitious: he believes she is his mascot. I don't accuse him--I
suspect him, knowing him to be capable of many weird extravagances....
Furthermore, it's a fact that Max was a fellow-passenger with Billy
Hamilton when the latter disappeared in mid-ocean."

Ember paused and sat up, preparatory to rising. "All of which," he
concluded, "explains why I have trespassed upon your patience and your
privacy. It seemed only right that you should get the straight,
undistorted story from an unprejudiced onlooker. May I venture to add