recipitate things. The leaders
would escape, and a new group would take their places. Such a group, she
knew, stood ready for that very emergency.

On the afternoon of Lily's departure she heard Doyle come in. He had not
recovered from his morning's anger, and she heard his voice, raised in
some violent reproof to Jennie. He came up the stairs, his head sagged
forward, his every step deliberate, heavy, ominous. He had an evening
paper in his hand, and he gave it to her with his finger pointing to a
paragraph.

"You might show that to the last of the Cardews," he sneered.

It was the paragraph about Louis Akers. Elinor read it. "Who were the
masked men?" she asked. "Do you know?"

"I wish to God I did. I'd--Makes him a laughing stock, of course. And
just now, when--Where's Lily?"

Elinor put down the paper.

"She is not here. She went home this afternoon."

He stared at her, angrily incredulous.

"Home?"

"This afternoon."

She passed him and went out into the hall. But he followed her and
caught her by the arm as she reached the top of the staircase.

"What made her go home?"

"I don't know, Jim."

"She didn't say?"

"Don't hold me like that. No."

She tried to free her arm, but he held her, his face angry and
suspicious.

"You are lying to me," he snarled. "She gave you a reason. What was it?"

Elinor was frightened, but she had not lost her head. She was thinking
rapidly.

"She had a visitor this afternoon, a young man. He must have told her
something about last night. She came up and told me she was going."

"You know he told her something, don't you?"

"Yes." Elinor had cowered against the wall. "Jim, don't look like that.
You frighten me. I couldn't keep her here. I--"

"What did he tell her?"

"He accused you."

He was eyeing her coldly, calculatingly. All his suspicions of the past
weeks suddenly crystallized. "And you let her go, after that," he said
slowly. "You were glad to have her go. You didn't deny what she said.
You let her run back home, with what she had guessed and what you told
her to-day. You--"

He struck her then. The blow was as remorseless as his voice, as
deliberate. She fell down the staircase headlong, and lay there, not
moving.

The elderly maid came running from the kitchen, and found him half-way
down the stairs, his eyes still calculating, but his body shaking.

"She fell," he said, still staring down. But the servant faced him, her
eyes full of hate.