is true?"

"It is true."

An oath half escaping showed how the confirmation cut him. "And
Whispering Smith got away! It is Du Sang's own fault; I told him to
keep out of that trap. I stay in the open; and I'm not Du Sang. I'll
choose my own ground for the finish when they want it with me, and
when I go I'll take company--I'll promise you that. Good-night,
Marion. Will you shake hands?"

"No."

"Damn it, I like your grit, girl! Well, good-night, anyway."

She closed the door. She had even strength enough to bolt it before
his footsteps died away. She put out the light and felt her way
blindly back to the work-room. She staggered through it, clutching at
the curtains, and fell in the darkness into Dicksie's arms.

"Marion dear, don't speak," Dicksie whispered. "I heard everything.
Oh, Marion!" she cried, suddenly conscious of the inertness of the
burden in her arms. "Oh, what shall I do?"

Moved by fright to her utmost strength, Dicksie drew the unconscious
woman back to her room and managed to lay her on the bed. Marion
opened her eyes a few minutes later to see the lights burning, to hear
the telephone bell ringing, and to find Dicksie on the edge of the bed
beside her.

"Oh, Marion, thank Heaven, you are reviving! I have been frightened to
death. Don't mind the telephone; it is Mr. McCloud. I didn't know what
to do, so I telephoned him."

"But you had better answer him," said Marion faintly. The telephone
bell was ringing wildly.

"Oh, no! he can wait. How are you, dear? I don't wonder you were
frightened to death. Marion, he means to kill us--every one!"

"No, Dicksie. He will kill me and kill himself; that is where it will
end. Dicksie, do answer the telephone. What are you thinking of? Mr.
McCloud will be at the door in five minutes. Do you want him in the
street to-night?"

Dicksie fled to the telephone, and an excited conference over the wire
closed in seeming reassurance at both ends. By that time Marion had
regained her steadiness, but she could not talk of what had passed. At
times, as the two lay together in the darkness, Marion spoke, but it
was not to be answered. "I do not know," she murmured once wearily.
"Perhaps I am doing wrong; perhaps I ought to go with him. I wish, oh,
I wish I knew what I ought to do!"

CHAPTER XXXV

THE CALL

Beyond receiving reports from Kennedy and Banks, who in the interval
rode into town and rode out again on their separate and silent ways,
Whisp