ite abruptly. All was
not exactly well as yet; Johnson Boller and his wife were coming down
the corridor and, almost as he heard them, the lady passed him.

She said nothing. Beatrice had passed the talking stage. Cheeks white
again and eyes blazing, she threw open the door of Anthony's chamber and
shot inward! One felt the pause as she looked around; one heard the door
of the closet open--and then the door of the other closet. Then one saw
the pleasing Beatrice again as she shot out, hat still in hand.

One lightning, searing glance whizzed over the calm Anthony and the
purple, perspiring Johnson Boller. Then Beatrice had turned and hurtled
into Johnson Boller's room itself, and Johnson Boller dropped into the
chair beside Anthony and whined.

"It's over!" said he. "It's over!"

"Oh, no," Anthony said.

"And you listen to this!" Johnson Boller thundered suddenly, sitting up
and pointing one pudgy finger at his friend. "The poor kid's crazy! I
can't stop her! She'll kill the little skirt as sure as there's a sky
overhead, and she'll go to the chair for it, laughing! And when she has
gone, Fry, when it's all over, _I'm_ going to shoot you full of holes
and then kill myself! Get me? This world isn't big enough for you to get
away from me, now! I swear to you----"

"You might better dry up," said Anthony with his incomprehensible calm.

Boller turned dully. Beatrice was with them again, and yet there had
been no scream, no crash. There was about Beatrice nothing at all to
suggest a woman who has tasted the sweet of revenge. White lips shut,
she sailed past them, on her way to Wilkins's pantry and his humble
bedroom beyond.

"Didn't she find her?" choked Boller.

"She didn't!"

"Why not?"

"She isn't there."

"Where'd she go?"

Anthony smiled cynical condescension.

"Once in a while I'm able to manage these things if I'm left alone," he
said, assuming much credit to which he had no title.

"Well, is she out of this flat?" Johnson Boller asked hopefully.

"She certainly is, you poor fool," said his host.

Beatrice had finished her unlovely hunt. Even again, she was with them,
and now she looked straight at Johnson Boller, ignoring the very
existence of Anthony Fry.

"I haven't found her," said Beatrice. "She's hidden somewhere, or else
she's with _other_ friends in this wretched, sanctimonious hole."

"Beatrice----" Johnson Boller began, with a great, hopeful gasp.

"But I _will_ find her!" the lady