It was the deliberate treachery which struck Armstrong as no other blow could have done. It reached into his very soul like a hot brand, burning everything in its course. His brain was in chaos. He could think of nothing coherent, could plan nothing, could find no evasion. He sat broken, his senses reeling, his ability numbed and stupefied. And Macgowan, watching with the cruel eyes of a hawk, smiled upon the ruin of the man whose friend he had been, and knew the moment had come to strike. "Sign!" said the inflexible voice. "Sign--or take your medicine! Time's up." Armstrong lifted his head. Sign! He could do nothing else. He was lost. Everything was in the grip of Macgowan. Out of his own soul all the fight had been crushed. With fumbling hands, he groped at the papers. Anguish blinded him, a bitter surge of despair held him fettered. He had no heart left to struggle, or even to evade; he could do nothing, for his spirit was broken. He felt a pen thrust into his fingers, and blindly scrawled his name across the papers. Then he relaxed and sat with chin fallen on breast. Macgowan, smiling thinly, gathered up the papers and left the room. Armstrong did not see the man go. He sat as in a daze, seeing nothing. Somewhere in the back of his brain was throbbing that warning which Dorothy had tried to impress upon him; the memory only served to make worse the hurt. Then, suddenly, he was aware of a hand that clutched his arm, a voice ringing in his ear. He looked up, dully, to see Evarts standing over him in a blaze of excitement. "Armstrong! I see the whole thing now--it can't end like this, it can't!" Evarts cried out the words in frantic tones. "Wake up, man! Do something--don't sit there like a fool! Oh, why the devil did you sign those papers! Wake up, chief, I'm with you! I'll stick till hell freezes over! Wake up and tell me what to do." Armstrong struggled to his feet. He swayed, caught at the desk, gathered himself together. "Nothing to do, Evarts," he said, mumbling the words miserably. "Nothing to do. I'm sick. Let me get out of here--" Somehow he took his hat and coat and got out of the room, which had suddenly become hateful to him. CHAPTER III Armstrong went to his hotel room and dropped into a chair. He felt the need of being alone. He was glad that Dorothy was in Evansville, ignorant of all this disaster. He wanted no sympathy, no loving touch; he was in too bitter a mood. The hours following his interview with Macgowan were the darkest of his life. Now that it was all over, the reaction hit him hard. The absolute and deliberate falseness of his most trusted friend was so deadly and incredible that his brain was slow to waken. This wormwood was a drug, numbing all his senses save that of inward torture. Every thought of Macgowan was a new stab.