It was Williston’s “little girl” whom he took under his personal protection, diving up the street in the teeth of the gale which blew colder every moment, with a force and strength that kept Mary half the time off her feet. A gentler knight was Gordon—though as manly. All was dark around the premises. There was no one lurking near. Everybody was dancing attendance on the court-house holocaust. Gordon felt for his keys. “How good it is to get out of the wind,” whispered Louise. This proceeding smacked so much of the mysterious that whispering followed as a natural sequence. They stepped within. It was inky black. “Lock the door,” said Langford, in a low voice. Gordon complied, surprised, but asking no question. He knew his friend, and had faith in his judgment. Then he lighted a lamp that stood on his desk. “Why did you do that?” asked Louise, gravely. “What?” “Lock the door.” “I don’t know,” he answered, honestly. “I didn’t think you would notice the click. Ask Paul.” “I’ll explain in a minute,” said Langford. He stepped to the windows and drew the blinds closely. “Now that I have you safe,” he said, lightly, “I’ll confess I had an old woman’s scare. It came to me that as long as you are not, strictly speaking, on kind and loving terms with—every one west of the river,—and this being such an all-round nasty night anyway, why, I’d just spirit you home and give the charged atmosphere a chance of clearing a little.” Gordon looked at him steadily a moment. His face did not pale. Yet he knew that Langford had heard—or suspected—more than he intended to tell—then. It was good to see him shrug his shoulders in unconcern for the sake of the two white-faced girls who sat there in his stiff office chairs. “You are an old duffer, Paul,” he said, in pretended annoyance. “You treat me like a child. I won’t stand it always. You’ll see. Some day I’ll rebel—and—then—” “Meanwhile, I’ll just trot these ladies back to the hotel,” said Langford. “But you must promise to keep your head inside. We’re fixtures until we have that promise.” “What, lock me up and run off with—all the ladies! I guess not! Why didn’t we round up that way, I’d like to know? This isn’t Utah, Paul. You can’t have both.” Paul meant for him to lie low, then. He was also in a hurry to get the girls away. Evidently the danger lay here. There was a tightening of the firm mouth and an ominous contraction of the pupils of the eyes. He stirred the fire, then jammed a huge, knotted stick into the sheet iron stove. It seemed as if everybody had sheet iron stoves in this country. The log caught with a pleasant roar as the draught sent flames leaping up the chimney. But Paul made no movement to go. Then he, Gordon, had not understood his friend. Maybe the menace was not here, but outside. If so, he must contrive to keep his guests interested here. He would leave the lead to Paul. Paul knew. He went back to his living-room and returned, bringing two heavy buggy robes.