could save her?
She had stolen the goods; been arrested with them in her possession; was
in the Tombs; and, in a few weeks, would be lost to the world for a term
of years.

He could even now see the vulgar, leering crowd; watch the jury, picked
from the streets, file in and take their seats; hear the few, curt,
routine words, cold as bullets, drop from the lips of the callous judge,
the frail, desolate woman deserted by every soul, paying the price
without murmur or protest--glad that the end had come.

And then, with one of those tricks that memory sometimes plays, he saw
the altar-rail, where he had stood beside her--she in her bridal robes,
her soft blue eyes turned toward his; he heard again the responses,
"for better or for worse"--"until death do us part," caught the scent
of flowers and the peal of the organ as they turned and walked down the
aisle, past the throng of richly dressed guests.

"Great God!" he choked, worming his way through the crowd, unconscious
of his course, unmindful of his steps, oblivious to passers-by--alone
with an agony that scorched his very soul.

Chapter XXII

When Martha, on her return from Stephen's, had climbed the dimly lighted
stairs leading to her apartment, she ran against a thick-set man, in
brown clothes and derby hat, seated on the top step. He had interviewed
the faded old wreck who served as janitress and, learning that Mrs.
Munger would be back any minute, had taken this method of being within
touching distance when the good woman unlocked her door. She might
decide to leave him outside its panels while she got in her fine work of
hiding the thing he had climbed up three flights of stairs to find. In
that case, a twist of his foot between the door and the jamb would block
the game.

"Are you the man who has been waiting for me?" she exclaimed, as the
detective's big frame became discernible under the faint rays from the
"Paul Pry" skylight.

"Yes, if you are the woman who is living with Mrs. Stanton." He had
risen to his feet and had moved toward the door.

"I'm Mrs. Munger, if that's who you are looking for, and we live
together. She's not back yet, so the woman down-stairs has just told me.
Are you from Rosenthal's?"

"I am." He had edged nearer, his fingers within reach of the knob, his
lids narrowing as he studied her face and movements.

"Did they find the lace--the mantilla?"

"Not as I heard," he answered, noting her anxiety. "That's what brou