nabout, and hurried away. When he reached the
New Arts Building he found Kennedy in the hall and dismissed him.
"Thanks," he observed, brusquely. "I will take care of this."

He hurried up the stairs, avoiding the elevator, to the vacant room
opposite, and thence reconnoitered the studio door. It was as Kennedy
had reported. Stephanie was there, and with Gurney. The pale poet had
been brought there to furnish her an evening of delight. Because of
the stillness of the building at this hour he could hear their muffled
voices speaking alternately, and once Stephanie singing the refrain of
a song. He was angry and yet grateful that she had, in her genial way,
taken the trouble to call and assure him that she was going to a summer
lawn-party and dance. He smiled grimly, sarcastically, as he thought
of her surprise. Softly he extracted the clutch-key and inserted it,
covering the end of the key on the inside and turning it. It gave
solidly without sound. He next tried the knob and turned it, feeling
the door spring slightly as he did so. Then inaudibly, because of a
gurgled laugh with which he was thoroughly familiar, he opened it and
stepped in.

At his rough, firm cough they sprang up--Gurney to a hiding position
behind a curtain, Stephanie to one of concealment behind draperies on
the couch. She could not speak, and could scarcely believe that her
eyes did not deceive her. Gurney, masculine and defiant, but by no
means well composed, demanded: "Who are you? What do you want here?"
Cowperwood replied very simply and smilingly: "Not very much. Perhaps
Miss Platow there will tell you." He nodded in her direction.

Stephanie, fixed by his cold, examining eye, shrank nervously, ignoring
Gurney entirely. The latter perceived on the instant that he had a
previous liaison to deal with--an angry and outraged lover--and he was
not prepared to act either wisely or well.

"Mr. Gurney," said Cowperwood, complacently, after staring at Stephanie
grimly and scorching her with his scorn, "I have no concern with you,
and do not propose to do anything to disturb you or Miss Platow after a
very few moments. I am not here without reason. This young woman has
been steadily deceiving me. She has lied to me frequently, and
pretended an innocence which I did not believe. To-night she told me
she was to be at a lawn-party on the West Side. She has been my
mistress for months. I have given her money, jewelry, whatever she
wan