The door closed on the little car. The door closed on Anthony's apartment, with Anthony inside--and again he was that stately, dignified, reticent and austere being; the Anthony Fry of yesterday!

A trifle stiffly, perhaps, he moved to his pet armchair, and into it he sank with an undeniable thud, grasping the arms fondly as one might grasp a friend returned from a long and perilous journey, and staring straight ahead.

Amazing! More than that, dumfounding!

Five minutes back he had been seriously resigned to ruin and death. Now he was quite utterly all right once more!

Anthony looked about at all the familiar things; it seemed to him that he had not seen them for a long, long time, and that they stretched out welcoming hands to him. Weakly, he smiled and rested his head in the well-worn spot on the back.

What a wonderfully capable little person she was! Why had none of them thought of a trunk before? Or--what matter if none of them had, so that Mary had gained the inspiration? She had saved herself and she had saved Anthony--bless her little heart! She had saved everything, because she was gone!

And she was perfectly safe in Wilkins's hands. Wilkins, faithful, powerful soul, would carry her tidily into the room of the maid Felice, wherever that might lie in Dalton's absurdly ornate pile, and between Felice and Mary a story would be arranged to cover everything.

Momentarily, Anthony frowned, for he disapproved of mendacity in any form--but there are some lies so much better than the truth that shortly he smiled again and hoped from the bottom of his heart that Mary's lie would be a winner.

And now that all was well--Anthony sat upright quite 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 pa.s.sed him.

She said nothing. Beatrice had pa.s.sed 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, a.s.suming much credit to which he had no t.i.tle.

"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 a.s.sured him, "and when I do--I'm going now."

"Home?"

Momentarily, Beatrice's eyes swam. It seemed a good sign, and Johnson Boller rose hurriedly. The eyes ceased swimming and blazed at him!

"I am never going there again," Beatrice informed him, with the old, chilling calm. "I shall go to a hotel, and later, I hope, back to father and mother. You will hear from my lawyers, Johnson, within a day or two."

"But, Beatrice----" Johnson Boller protested. "That doesn't mean that you're crazy enough to--to try divorcing me?"

"I am not crazy, and there will be very little trouble about it, Johnson," the lady said gravely. "That is what it means. Good-by."

A moment she paused before Johnson Boller, looking him up and down with a scorn so terrible that, innocent or otherwise, he cringed visibly.

Another moment her eyes seemed to soften a little, for they were deep and wonderful, maddeningly beautiful, but millions of miles from the unworthy creature who had once called them his own. This, apparently, was Beatrice's fashion of saying an eternal good-by to one she had once loved--for having looked and thrilled him, she moved on, and the door closed behind her.

"She means it!" croaked Johnson Boller.

"She'll cool down," said Anthony.

"She will not, and--she means it!" cried his friend, wrath rising by great leaps. "She's going to sue me for divorce--_me_, that never even looked a chicken in the eye on the street. She's going to bust up our happy little home, Anthony, and it's your fault!"

"Poppyc.o.c.k!" said his host.

"That be d.a.m.ned!" stated Johnson Boller, and this time he actually howled the foul words. "That's what she wants to do, and I don't blame her! But she'll never do it, Anthony! Your reputation's all right--it's unfortunate for the girl, of course, but I'm going to stop her!"

"How?"

"I'm going to tell the cold truth and make the girl back it up!"

"Hey?"

"I owe something to myself and to Beatrice, and I don't owe anything to you or the Dalton girl! Where's my hat?"

Anthony gripped him suddenly.

"Are you cur enough," said he, angrily, "to sacrifice Miss Dalton simply to----"

"You bet I am!" said Johnson Boller. "If it comes down to that, _the truth_ can't hurt her, and any little odds and ends of things that happen before all hands understand the truth will happen to you--not me!"

Anthony smiled wickedly.

"Just listen to me a moment before you start!" he said curtly.

"Listen to what?"