was like the voice of one who tries to scream in a
nightmare. It was muffled; and though the two intervening doors were
ajar--the door of Mrs. Ellsworth's bedroom and the baize door dividing
the corridors old and new--her call did not reach even the real Mr.
Smith. To be sure, he was slightly deaf, and had to use an electric
apparatus if he went to the theatre or opera; still, Annesley hoped that
her choked cry might arrest him, that he might stop and listen for it to
come again, thus giving time for the man upstairs to change his quarters
after the grating of the latchkey in its lock.

"Wicked, wicked girl!" Mrs. Ellsworth was shrilling. "How dare you hurt
my hand? Have you lost your _senses_? Out of my house you go to-morrow!"

But Annesley did not hear. Her mind, her whole self, had escaped from her
body and rushed out into the hall to intercept Mr. Ruthven Smith. It
seemed that he _must_ feel the influence and stop. If he did not, some
terrible thing would happen--unless, indeed, the other man had heard and
heeded the warning sound at the front door. What if those two met on the
stairs, or in the room on the second floor? Her lover would believe that
she had betrayed him!

"Mrs. Ellsworth," she said in a fierce, low voice utterly unlike her own,
"you must let me go, or you will regret it. I don't want to hurt you,
but--there's only one thing that matters. If----"

The words seemed to be beaten back against her lips with a blow. From
somewhere above a sharp, dry explosion struck the girl's brain and
shattered her thoughts like breaking glass.

Mrs. Ellsworth let go the chiffon cloak and dress so suddenly that
Annesley almost lost her balance. The noise had dazed the girl. The world
seemed full and echoing with it. She did not know what it was until she
heard Mrs. Ellsworth gasp, "A pistol shot! In my house! _Thieves!
Murder!_"

CHAPTER VI

THE BEGINNING--OR THE END?

For one confused instant the girl stood statue-still, then, realizing
that she was free, without a thought for Mrs. Ellsworth she ran out of
the room. In the front corridor and in the dining room the electric light
was still on; and as she reached the stairs Annesley saw Ruthven Smith
standing near the top with a small pistol in his hand.

She feared that he would fire a second shot, and there was no time to
reach him. Somehow, he must be stopped with a word--but what word?
Everything depended on that. Sheer desperation inspired her.