"I don't intend to breed a family of Triangles, anyway," she remarked, and closed the door in his face. James Mattock, returning that evening, was informed that "Mrs. Mattock" had left, and read the note that was waiting for him uneasily. He found her already installed in the flat in Cornwall House, and looked around at the palatial furnishing perplexedly. "What's this, Joan?" he asked. "Oh, a matchbox on stilts," she said sarcastically. "What did you think it was--a tram?" She was stretched out in a deep-cushioned chair, her kimono lightly sashed about her, her little bare feet pillowed in the deep pile of the carpet. Her fluffy golden hair was elaborately untidy. She was arrestingly pretty and attractive. "Who are you waiting for?" Mattock demanded roughly, but she shook her head and held out a silk-sheathed arm. "Only you, Jimmy. I'm sorry I was snappy just now. I've had rather a trying day." "Poor kid!" He knelt down beside her and laid an arm about her shoulders. "But, Joan, who's paying for this? We can't afford anything like this--it must cost thousands!" "No--it's bringing us thousands," she said. "Two thousand a year, and we need it. And all it means is letting a few men come in and out. I'll tell you----" He stood up suddenly and clutched her wrists fiercely. "Joan! _Joan!_" His voice was tense with agony. "Oh, my darling, what have you done this for? I've got a job. Good--good God, Joan----" "No--no--_listen_, Jimmy! You've got it all wrong. Yes, it _is_ crooked, in a way," she went on desperately. "It's some silly gang. I don't know what they're after, but I'm not in it. Only they want a place to--to come to, sometimes, and there must be somebody always living there, and as I'm one of them, they got me." "But----" "Oh, yes, I know! I said I'd given it up, but I couldn't. They've got a hold on me that I can't break--that you can't break. The only way to break it is expensive, and I've got to have that money. Look--doesn't that mean anything to you?" She drew back the sleeve and showed him her forearm, holding it up close to his eyes. It showed the faint marks of several small punctures, but Mattock only shook his head. "I don't know what it is," he said dully. "But, of course, I'm a fool anyway...." He sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands. She went on her knees beside him and pressed herself close to him. "Jimmy----" "Oh, yes ... Joan ..." He took her hand and fondled it, and then he pressed it to his lips. It was a very long time before he spoke again. "I'm sorry. I'm making a fool of myself. But I was afraid." The words fell from his lips in a painful monotone. "I'll go out for a walk. I'll feel better then." Storm, following Susan into the Leroy that night, saw the hatless figure striding madly down Piccadilly and was puzzled. "You _are_ doing something," Susan accused him. "I saw you this morning with a detective--Mr. Teal."