s the play went on, and she was able to
make her solid investments out of it, she wondered if her ten years of
retirement had been all the price she was to pay for his ruin; but
she put that thought away too, although she never minimized her
responsibility when she faced it.

But her price had been heavy at that. She was childless and alone,
lavishing her aborted maternity on a brother who was living his
prosperous, cheerful and not too moral life at her expense. Fred was,
she knew, slightly drunk with success; he attended to his minimum of
labor with the least possible effort, had an expensive apartment on the
Drive, and neglected her except, when he needed money. She began to see,
as other women had seen before her, that her success had, by taking away
the necessity for initiative, been extremely bad for him.

That was the situation when, one night late in October, the trap of
Bassett's devising began to close in. It had been raining, but in spite
of that they had sold standing room to the fire limit. Having got the
treasurer's report on the night's business and sent it to Beverly's
dressing-room, Gregory wandered into his small, low-ceiled office
under the balcony staircase, and closing the door sat down. It was the
interval after the second act, and above the hum of voices outside the
sound of the orchestra penetrated faintly.

He was entirely serene. He had a supper engagement after the show,
he had a neat car waiting outside to take him to it, and the night's
business had been extraordinary. He consulted his watch and then picked
up an evening paper. A few moments later he found himself reading over
and over a small notice inserted among the personals.

"Personal: Jean Melis, who was in Norada, Wyoming, during the early fall
of 1911 please communicate with L 22, this office."

The orchestra was still playing outside; the silly, giggling crowds were
moving back to their seats, and somewhere Jean Melis, or the friends of
Jean Melis, who would tell him of it, were reading that message.

He got his hat and went out, forgetful of the neat car at the curb, of
the supper engagement, of the night's business, and wandered down the
street through the rain. But his first uneasiness passed quickly. He
saw Bassett in the affair, and probably Clark himself, still living
and tardily determined to clear his name. But if the worst came to the
worst, what could they do? They could go only so far, and then they
would have to q