“What is it Blackie?” I asked again. The horror of what Von Gerhard had told me made the prospect of any lesser trial a welcome relief. “I got t’ talk to you for a minute. P’raps Von Gerhard ’d better hear it, too. I telephoned you an hour ago. Tried to get you out to the bay. Waited here ever since. Got a parlor, or somethin’, where a guy can talk?” I led the way indoors. The first floor seemed deserted. The bare, unfriendly boarding-house parlor was unoccupied, and one dim gas jet did duty as illumination. “Bring in the set pieces,” muttered Blackie, as he turned two more gas jets flaring high. “This parlor just yells for a funeral.” Von Gerhard was frowning. “Mrs. Orme is not well,” he began. “She has had a shock—some startling news concerning—” “Her husband?” inquired Blackie, coolly. I started up with a cry. “How could you know?” A look of relief came into Blackie’s face. “That helps a little. Now listen, kid. An’ w’en I get through, remember I’m there with the little helpin’ mitt. Have a cigarette, Doc?” “No,” said Von Gerhard, shortly. Blackie’s strange black eyes were fastened on my face, and I saw an expression of pity in their depths as he began to talk. “I was up at the Press Club to-night. Dropped in for a minute or two, like I always do on the rounds. The place sounded kind of still when I come up the steps, and I wondered where all the boys was. Looked into the billiard room—nothin’ doin’. Poked my head in at the writin’ room—same. Ambled into the readin’ room—empty. Well, I steered for the dining room, an’ there was the bunch. An’ just as I come in they give a roar, and I started to investigate. Up against the fireplace, with one hand in his pocket, and the other hanging careless like on the mantel, stood a man—stranger t’ me. He was talkin’ kind of low, and quick, bitin’ off his words like a Englishman. An’ the boys, they was starin’ with their eyes, an’ their mouths, and forgettin’ t’ smoke, an’ lettin’ their pipes an’ cigars go dead in their hands, while he talked. Talk! Sa-a-ay, girl, that guy, he could talk the leads right out of a ruled, locked form. I didn’t catch his name. Tall, thin, unearthly lookin’ chap, with the whitest teeth you ever saw, an’ eyes—well, his eyes was somethin’ like a lighted pipe with a little fine ash over the red, just waitin’ for a sudden pull t’ make it glow.” “Peter!” I moaned, and buried my face in my hands. Von Gerhard put a quick hand on my arm. But I shook it off. “I’m not going to faint,” I said, through set teeth. “I’m not going to do anything silly. I want to think. I want to... Go on, Blackie.” “Just a minute,” interrupted Von Gerhard. “Does he know where Mrs. Orme is living?” “I’m coming t’ that,” returned Blackie, tranquilly. “Though for Dawn’s sake I’ll say right here he don’t know. I told him later, that she was takin’ a vacation up at her folks’ in Michigan.” “Thank God!” I breathed.