wise that she should see it just yet.

"That day I took the horrid things from you in the cab I was awfully
frightened," she continued sobbingly. "I felt that every one I
passed knew I had them; and you can't imagine what a relief it was
when I took them back out there and left them. And now when I think
that something may have happened to _him!_" She paused, then raised
her tear-dimmed eyes to his face. "He is all I have in the world
now, Gene, except you. Already the hateful things have cost the
lives of my father and my brother, and now if he--Or you--Oh, my
God, it would kill me! I hate them, hate them!"

She was shaken by a paroxysm of sobs. Mr. Wynne led her to a chair,
and she dropped into it wearily, with her face in her hands.

"Nothing can have happened, Doris," he repeated gently. "I sent a
message out there in duplicate only a few minutes ago. In a couple
of hours, now, we shall be getting an answer. Now, don't begin to
cry," he added helplessly.

"And if you don't get an answer?" she insisted.

"I shall get an answer," he declared positively. There was a long
pause. "And when I get that answer, Doris," he resumed, again
becoming very grave, "you will see how unwise, how dangerous even, it
was for you to come here this way. I know it's hard, dear," he
supplemented apologetically, "but it was only for the week, you know;
and now I don't see how you can go away from here again."

"Go away?" she repeated wonderingly. "Why shouldn't I go away? I
was very careful to veil myself when I came--no one saw me enter, I
am sure. Why can't I go away again?"

Mr. Wynne paced the length of the room twice, with troubled brow.

"You don't understand, dear," he said quietly, as he paused before
her. "From the moment I left Mr. Latham's office last Thursday I
have been under constant surveillance. I'm followed wherever I go--
to my office, to luncheon, to the theater, everywhere; and day and
night, day and night, there are two men watching this house, and two
other men watching at my office. They tamper with my correspondence,
trace my telephone calls, question my servants, quiz my clerks. You
don't understand, dear," he said again.

"But why should they do all this?" she asked curiously. "Why should
they--"

"I had expected it all, of course," he interrupted, "and it doesn't
disturb me in the least. I planned for months to anticipate every
emergency; I know every detective who is watching me