"But at that, you know, fate's doing the kind, just thing by s.n.a.t.c.hing me out," Mr. Boller concluded earnestly and virtuously. "It wasn't my muddle in the first place, and somehow I feel that you haven't acted just on the level with me about any of it."

Anthony's mouth opened to protest. Yet he did not protest. Instead, he jumped, just as one jumps at the unexpected explosion of a fire-cracker--for down the corridor a scream, shrill and sharp, echoed suddenly.

And after the scream came a long, choking gasp, so that even Wilkins appeared in the doorway and Johnson Boller darted forward to learn what had overtaken his only darling. He was spared the trouble of going down the corridor, however. Even as he darted forward, Beatrice had rejoined them; and having looked at her just once Johnson Boller stood in his tracks, rooted to the floor!

Because Beatrice, the lovely, the loving, Beatrice of the melting eyes and the high color, had left them. The lady in the doorway was white as the driven snow and breathing in a queer, strangling way; and whatever her eyes may have expressed, melting love for Johnson Boller was not included.

For this unpleasant condition the hat in her hand seemed largely responsible. It was a pretty little hat, expensively simple, but it was the hat of a lady!

And, looking from it to Johnson Boller, Beatrice finally managed:

"This--this! This hat!"

Johnson Boller moved not even a muscle.

"Who is the woman?" Beatrice cried vibrantly. "_Who is she?_"

And still neither Anthony nor Johnson Boller seemed able to canter up to the situation and carry it of with a blithe laugh. Anthony was making queer mouths; Johnson Boller was doing nothing whatever, even now; and when three seconds had pa.s.sed Beatrice whirled abruptly on the only other possible source of information present, which happened to be Wilkins.

"You were here!" she said swiftly. "You answer me: who was the woman?"

"The--the woman, ma'am!" Wilkins repeated.

Beatrice came nearer and looked up at him, and there was that in her eyes which sent Wilkins back a full pace.

"You--you creature!" Beatrice said. "What woman was in this apartment last night?"

Now, as it chanced, Wilkins was far more intelligent than he looked.

Give him the mere hint to a situation and he could lumber through somehow. Only a little while ago, when Hobart Hitchin came upon them, he had caught the key to this affair--so he smiled quite confidently and bowed.

"There was no woman here last night, ma'am," said Wilkins, "only Mrs.

Boller, the wife of that gentleman there!"

CHAPTER XII

The Crash

Now it was the turn of Beatrice to become rigid.

She did not even wink, those first few seconds. She looked straight at Wilkins, searching his soul; and Wilkins, pleasantly conscious of having done the right thing well, preserved his quiet, respectful smile and wondered just which lady this newest might be.

He was telling the truth. He was telling the horrible, the incredible truth--and although those eyes of Mrs. Boller's might have suggested that she was capable of pa.s.sionate murder if goaded far enough, they belied her actions just now. One slim, white hand went to her throat for a moment, as if to ease her breathing, but when she spoke her tone was very low, very quiet indeed:

"Mrs. Boller was here?"

"Yes, madam!" Wilkins responded in round tones.

"All last night?"

"Er--yes, madam. She----"

Johnson Boller returned to life! Johnson Boller, with a thick, senseless shout, bounded forward and landed directly between Wilkins and his beloved as he snarled:

"Say, you--you lying dog! You----"

"Let him alone!" his wife said quickly. "Permit him to tell me the truth!"

"He's not telling you the truth!" cried Johnson Boller. "He's lying!

He--why, Wilkins, I'll smash your face into so many nasty little pieces that----"

"I beg pardon, sir!" Wilkins said hastily. "The--the lady was here----"

"There was no lady here!" Mr. Boller shouted.

Wilkins put up his hands.

"Well, the lady that was eating breakfast, sir, after a manner of speaking," he stammered. "Her that was introduced as Mrs. Boller, which caused me to take it, sir, that she----"

"Say! I said there was no lady here and there was no lady here! Get that, you putty-faced idiot!" Johnson Boller cried frantically, for he was beyond reason. "What do you mean by standing there and lying and babbling about some woman----"

Again Wilkins's intelligence manifested itself. To be a perfect servant, one's teeth must remain in place and one's face must be free from bruises. Wilkins, after a brief, intent look at Johnson Boller's fists, turned and fled!

"So this," said Mrs. Johnson Boller with deadly calm, "is what happens when you think I've gone away!"

Her husband turned upon her and threw out his hands.

"Beatrice!" he cried. "I swear to you----"

"Don't touch me, you filthy creature!" said his Beatrice. "I--I couldn't have thought it. You seemed different from other men!"

"This woman----" Johnson Boller floundered, and then caught Anthony's cold eye. It was an amused eye, too, and the sneer was in it; and Johnson Boller pointed at its owner suddenly and said: "If--if there was a woman here, blame him!"

Beatrice Boller looked Anthony Fry up and down, and her lips curled.

"I do--a little!" she said bitterly. "I've never cared very much for you, Mr. Fry, but--oh, why did you do that? You know as well as I know that Johnson isn't that--that sort of a man! If he wanted to come here and stay with you, couldn't you have been, just for once--_decent_?"

"_Madam!_" thundered Anthony Fry, when breath came to him.

There was no music in Beatrice's laugh; an ungreased saw goes through hardwood more sweetly.

"Spare yourself the effort of that righteous rage," she said. "I know your saintly type of man so well, and I've begged Johnson to have nothing to do with you."

"And I give you my word----" Johnson Boller began.

"That he brought the woman here?" his wife asked.