nd's jealousy won't tell him where you went?" But the idea
terrified her into such renewed hysteria that he broke off and stood
silent.

The gathering clouds had broken now into a wild spring storm and the
rain was drumming like canister on the roof of Stuart's cottage, so they
did not hear the purr of a motor which stopped outside. They were
without warning when the door suddenly burst open, and across the bare
shoulder of the woman, who still hung sobbing to him, Stuart saw the
bloated and apoplectic face of Larry Holbury and at his back the
frightened countenance of two servants.

The husband came unsteadily several steps into the room, and lifted a
hand which shook as he pointed to the tableau. He addressed his
retainers in a voice which trembled with drink and rage, but even in its
thickness it was icy by virtue of a fury that had passed through all
period of bluster.

"I want you to look well at that," he said. "Mark every detail in your
memories, both of you. There they are--in each other's arms. Notice her
condition well, because, by God--"

Marian's scream interrupted his sentence, and the scream itself died
away in a quaver, as she faded into insensibility, and Farquaharson
lifted her clear of the floor and carried her to the lounge.

After that he turned to face Holbury and addressed him with a quietness
which the glitter in his eye contradicted. "This is a pity, Holbury. It
seems that you frightened her with some brutality. She lost her head and
came here. I was trying to persuade her to go back."

"Yes," Holbury's laugh rang with the uncontrolled quality of a maniac's.
"Yes, I know. You tore the clothes off of her trying to persuade her to
come back to me! Well, you needn't trouble about sending her back
now--the door's locked. She's yours. Do what you like with her. Of
course I ought to kill you, but I won't. I brought these men to
establish beyond doubt the identity of the co-respondent. It's a gentle
riddance--a crooked wife and a crooked paramour."

One of the men advanced into the room and ostentatiously gathered in a
couple of hairpins and a bit of torn lace, while Farquaharson crossed
and stood face to face with the irate husband.

"Do you mean that you believe that?" The question came with a deadly
softness.

"I don't have to believe. I have seen."

"Then," Stuart's words ripped themselves out like the tearing of cloth,
"send your damned jackals outside, unless you want them to see their