ise to a shout,
she hovered uneasily.

It was hateful to Clo that Angel should be alone with the ferret-faced
man behind the closed door. He might choke Beverley to death with those
sly, thievish hands of his, and the sentinel outside would not know.
"Why was he sitting there in the dark," she puzzled, "like a spider in
his web, waiting to pounce?" She could not put away the impression that
there was something more terrible even than Beverley had expected. No
one came or went. After all, she had been there only four or five
minutes, though the time seemed long. It might easily be half an hour,
Clo reminded herself, before she could hope to be called into
consultation, or invited to hand over the precious bag. She looked
wistfully toward the nearest end of the corridor. There, in front of a
window, was a big brown trunk. She would go and sit on that trunk to
rest. It was well within sight of Peterson's door. Her eyes would never
leave that door! With renewed life she could spring up as she saw it
opened by Angel.

"Yes, I've got to the limit!" the girl said. She was so spent that her
feet seemed to have weights attached to them as she dragged herself
toward the trunk. Reaching it, she dropped, rather than sat, upon the
rounded top. No sooner had she touched the lid, however, than she
bounded up as if she had received an electric shock. It seemed that
something inside the trunk had given a leap, and that the great box had
quivered under her. At the same instant the door of number 658 was
thrown open. Beverley came out.

XX

MURDER

There was something not natural in Beverley's air and manner. Normally
she had a proud, erect carriage. Now she came stumbling out of Number
658, and with drooping head, and shoulders bent, crept into the hall,
leaving the door half open behind her; but she stopped abruptly and
turned back. Clo, forgetting her own weakness, and forgetting the brown
trunk, hurried to join her friend. But Beverley seemed to be unconscious
of the girl's presence. She stood as far as possible from the door,
closed it without noise, and was walking away again when Clo's arm slid
round her waist.

"Darling, what has he said, what has he done to you?" the girl implored.

Beverley seized Clo by the wrist, and pulled her toward the lift.

"Hurry!" she whispered. "We must get away as soon as we can, for Roger's
sake!"

"But what about the papers, and the pearls?" Clo persisted. "Had
Peterson taken th