a chair for her. But she did not sit down. She steadied
herself by its back, instead.

"You think it's about Graham," she began. "It isn't, not directly, that
is. And my coming is terrible, because it's my own father. They're going
to blow up the munition plant, Mr. Spencer!"

"When?"

"To-night, I think. I came as fast as I could. I was locked in.

"Locked in?" He was studying her face.

"Yes. Don't bother about that now. I'm not crazy or hysterical. I tell
you I heard them. I've been a prisoner or I'd have come sooner. To-day
they brought something--dynamite or a bomb--in a suit-case--and it's
gone to-night. He took it--my father."

He was already at the telephone as she spoke. He called the mill first,
and got the night superintendent. Then he called a number Anna supposed
was the police station, and at the same time he was ringing the
garage-signal steadily for his car. By the time he had explained the
situation to the police, his car was rolling under the porte-cochere
beside the house. He was starting out, forgetful of the girl, when she
caught him by the arm.

"You mustn't go!" she cried. "You'll be killed, too. It will all go,
all of it. You can't be spared, Mr. Spencer. You can build another mill,
but--"

He shook her off, gently.

"Of course I'm going," he said. "We'll get it in time. Don't you worry.
You sit down here and rest, and when it's all straightened out I'll come
back. I suppose you can't go home, after this?"

"No," she said, dully.

He ran out, hatless, and a moment later she heard the car rush out into
the night.

Five minutes passed. Ten. Anna Klein stood, staring ahead of her. When
nothing happened she moved around and sat down in the chair. She was
frightfully tired. She leaned her head back and tried to think of
something to calm her shaking nerves,--that this was Graham's home, that
he sometimes sat in that very chair. But she found that Graham meant
nothing to her. Nothing mattered, except that her warning had been in
time.

So intent was she on the thing that she was listening for that smaller,
near-by sounds escaped her. So she did not hear a door open up-stairs
and the soft rustle of a woman's negligee as it swept from stair to
stair. But as the foot-steps outside the door she stood up quickly and
looked back over her shoulder.

Natalie stood framed in the doorway, staring at her.

"Well?" she said. And on receiving no answer from the frightened girl,
"What are you do