Within, up on the fourth floor, Mary stood outside her open door, looking down into the dark, narrow stairway, with its sharp turns and tiny landings. When the dim, mounting figure started up the last flight and she saw it was Loveman, she drew sharply back and tried to close her door. But Loveman, quick despite his plump figure, sprang up the final steps and thrust his walking-stick into the closing aperture. He tried to force the door with his shoulder, but Mary’s strength on the other side was fully equal to his own and the door did not budge. He desisted, but kept the advantage held by his walking-stick. “Come, Mary, my dear, don’t be so inhospitable,” he said through the crack, in a pleasantly complaining voice. “You know, I wouldn’t have come at such an hour unless it was important. And you know I’m your friend.” The door did not move. “This is a raw way to treat your old nurse and playmate,” complained Loveman. “Particularly when I’ve come to tell you something that it’s your business to know--something about Jack.” There was a moment’s silence. Then suddenly the door swung wide open, and Loveman found himself looking at a small automatic and beyond that at the cold face of Mary. “Come in, but behave yourself,” she said briefly. He entered and closed the door. “Your suspicion hurts me, Mary, dear,” he said in his amiably injured tone. He raised his two hands, one holding the cane and the other his silk hat, high above his shining dome. “Just to allay your suspicions, so we can talk as good friends should talk, I suggest that you first frisk me.” “Don’t be a fool, and don’t try to be humorous. Put down your hands. I don’t care how many guns you have--I can beat you to the first shot--and there’ll be only one shot. What do you want?” Loveman lowered his hands and laid stick and hat upon a table. “Mind if an asthmatic, dropsical, and almost moribund gentleman sits down while he talks?” He eased himself into a chair without waiting her consent. “Sit down, too, Mary. If you’re going to murder me, let’s make it a comfortable affair for both of us.” She took a chair, and sat alert with automatic held in her lap. “What do you want?” she repeated. “First?” he replied with a smile of amiable frankness, “I’ve got to say that on the surface you do seem to have every reason to suspect me. The way that business at Le Minuit turned out, and especially the way Clifford twisted it, it did look as though I’d tried to do you dirt. But those were only the looks--they were not the facts.” “Do you mean to deny that that affair was a frame-up?” she demanded sharply. “I do not, for it was,” he returned promptly. “Further, it was a frame-up chiefly against you. That brings me to the point that made me hurry here--a point that had to have immediate explanation. It was a frame-up, yes--but, honest, Mary, I framed you for your own good.” “For my own good!” she exclaimed skeptically.