played upon the little group of characters, the living around the dead,
like sunshine upon an ancient garden.

Even Mr. Greenough congratulated Banneker, the next morning. In the
afternoon mail came a note from Mr. Gaines of The New Era monthly. That
perspicuous editor had instantly identified the style of the article
with that of the "Eban" series, part of which he had read in typograph.
He wrote briefly but warmly of the work: and would the writer not call
and see him soon?

Perhaps the reporter might have accepted the significant invitation
promptly, as he at first intended. But on the following morning he found
in his box an envelope under French stamp, inscribed with writing which,
though he had seen but two specimens of it, drove everything else out of
his tumultuous thoughts. He took it, not to his desk, but to a side room
of the art department, unoccupied at that hour, and opened it with
chilled and fumbling hands.

Within was a newspaper clipping, from a Paris edition of an American
daily. It gave a brief outline of the battle on the pier. In pencil on
the margin were these words:

"Do you remember practicing, that day, among the pines? I'm so proud!
Io."

He read it again. The last sentence affected him with a sensation of
dizziness. Proud! Of his deed! It gave him the feeling that she had
reclaimed, reappropriated him. No! That she had never for a moment
released him. In a great surge, sweeping through his veins, he felt the
pressure of her breast against his, the strong enfoldment of her arms,
her breath upon his lips. He tore envelope and clipping into fragments.

By one of those strange associations of linked memory, such as "clangs
and flashes for a drowning man," he sharply recalled where he had seen
Willis Enderby before. His was the face in the photograph to which
Camilla Van Arsdale had turned when death stretched out a hand toward
her.

CHAPTER X

While the police inquiry was afoot, Banneker was, perforce, often late
in reporting for duty, the regular hour being twelve-thirty. Thus the
idleness which the city desk had imposed upon him was, in a measure,
justified. On a Thursday, when he had been held in conference with Judge
Enderby, he did not reach The Ledger office until after two. Mr.
Greenough was still out for luncheon. No sooner had Banneker entered the
swinging gate than Mallory called to him. On the assistant city editor's
face was a peculiar expression, half humorous, ha