t was a quarter of eight when he left
for Miriam Kirkstone's home.

Even at that early hour the night lay about him heavy and dark and
saturated with a heavy mist. From the summit of the hill he could no
longer make out the valley of the Saskatchewan. He walked down into a
pit in which the scattered lights of the town burned dully like distant
stars. It was a little after eight when he came to the Kirkstone house.
It was set well back in an iron-fenced area thick with trees and
shrubbery, and he saw that the porch light was burning to show him the
way. Curtains were drawn, but a glow of warm light lay behind them.

He was sure that Miriam Kirkstone must have heard the crunch of his
feet on the gravel walk, for he had scarcely touched the old-fashioned
knocker on the door when the door itself was opened. It was Miriam who
greeted him. Again he held her hand for a moment in his own.

It was not cold, as it had been in McDowell's office. It was almost
feverishly hot, and the pupils of the girl's eyes were big, and dark,
and filled with a luminous fire. Keith might have thought that coming
in out of the dark night he had startled her. But it was not that. She
was repressing something that had preceded him. He thought that he
heard the almost noiseless closing of a door at the end of the long
hall, and his nostrils caught the faint aroma of a strange perfume.
Between him and the light hung a filmy veil of smoke. He knew that it
had come from a cigarette. There was an uneasy note in Miss Kirkstone's
voice as she invited him to hang his coat and hat on an old-fashioned
rack near the door. He took his time, trying to recall where he had
detected that perfume before. He remembered, with a sort of shock. It
was after Shan Tung had left McDowell's office.

She was smiling when he turned, and apologizing again for making her
unusual request that day.

"It was--quite unconventional. But I felt that you would understand,
Mr. Conniston. I guess I didn't stop to think. And I am afraid of
lightning, too. But I wanted to see you. I didn't want to wait until
tomorrow to hear about what happened up there. Is it--so strange?"

Afterward he could not remember just what sort of answer he made. She
turned, and he followed her through the big, square-cut door leading
out of the hall. It was the same door with the great, sliding panel he
had locked on that fateful night, years ago, when he had fought with
her father and brother. In it, for