"Certainly," he said, "show him in. And, Harrington," he added, "I'm not to be disturbed until I ring; not by any one, you understand. If Rogers should telephone, I'm out of town but expected back any minute, and I'll ring him up as soon as I get in. Remember, I'm not to be disturbed for any reason whatsoever, unless I should ring. All right, now. Ask him to step in." The clerk nodded and withdrew, and Gordon, rising, stood waiting by the window, outwardly calm, inwardly exerting every atom of self-control to keep down his rising excitement, as the crucial moment in the game drew near. Even as he listened, a hurried step sounded in the corridor without, and Palmer burst into the room, flinging the door to behind him as if to shut out some threatened pursuit. His unshaven face was pale and haggard, his eyes bloodshot and wild, his clothing awry, his whole demeanor as unlike that of his every-day, placid self as could by any possibility be imagined. His eyes sought Gordon's face, half in relief, half in fear. "I've come straight here," he cried hoarsely. "I thought I might have missed you if you'd gone to the island. Gordon, there's the very devil to pay. Have you heard what's happened?" Gordon, his face set and hard, nodded silently. He motioned to a chair, and seated himself at his desk, his voice, when he spoke, sounding low and constrained. "Yes, I've heard," he said; "I was just starting for the island when Mrs. Francis got me on the 'phone. Poor woman, she's half out of her mind." He paused, and then his seeming emotion mastered him, sweeping away in an instant his effort at self-control. "For God's sake, Palmer," he cried aloud, his eyes fixed on the other's face, "how did you come to do it? I can't believe it yet. You! A man of your position! My guest! Great heavens, Palmer, it can't be true! Tell me the whole thing's a lie." The younger man sat silent with head bowed and eyes fixed on the ground; his hands clenched, his body drawn back as if to avert a blow. Once, twice, he tried to speak, swallowing with difficulty and moistening his dry lips with his tongue. Then unwillingly he raised his eyes to Gordon's face. "It's true enough," he muttered thickly; "I've been a fool, that's all, and now I suppose there'll be the deuce to pay. Wine and women, damn them both! they've got me into trouble enough before this, but this time I guess they've just about done for me." Gordon's lip curled contemptuously. "Oh, so you're the one to be pitied," he said at length with slow irony. "Really, Harry, I'll admit that that's the last view of the matter I expected you to take. Why, don't you realize, man, what you've done? Things may be bad enough for you, of course; probably they will be; but can't you think for a minute of that poor girl. What's your trouble compared to hers?"