“No!” She spoke as to herself. “No!--It can’t be! He’s dead--he’s dead!” Satterthwaite intervened, his jaw setting hard, the level tone of his voice evidently sternly controlled. “May I ask who you are?” he enquired, coldly. The stranger faced him. Anger met anger in their eyes. “Certainly. I am Harry Tremaine. And perhaps you will be good enough to tell me who the devil you are--and what you are doing with my wife in my flat?” The man’s voice trembled with fury. His face worked with passion. He took a step toward the young woman. She drew quickly away from him, sheltered herself behind her companion, whence she stared at him with fascinated eyes. “My name is Satterthwaite--and I am dining with my wife!” “Your--wife----!” He repeated the words slowly as though scarcely crediting such audacious impudence of assertion. Then he laughed in harsh mockery. “Don’t talk nonsense!” He looked down at the child at Satterthwaite’s side. “Dorothy!--come here!” Satterthwaite restrained the child’s movement of obedience with a firm grip. “Excuse me,” he said quietly, “I think the youngster is better absent from this discussion.” He led the bewildered little girl to the door, opened it, and called for the nurse. “Put Miss Dorothy to bed!” he ordered. “And then all of you go out for the evening. Go to the movies. Here!” He held out a note. “Have a good time--and get out at once! Mrs. Satterthwaite and I want to be alone in the flat this evening.” He closed the door and returned to the others. The stranger, dominated for the moment by his quiet, masterful manner, had made no movement to interfere, stood, as he had left him, by the doorway. But his eyes were fixed still wrathfully upon the young woman who stared back at him, fascinated, clutching at the table for support. Her lips were ashen, parted in a soundless terror. Satterthwaite turned to her. “Do you know this man, Evelyn?” She made an effort, answered. “It--it is Harry--or his ghost!” The stranger laughed in bitter scorn. “What foolery!--Don’t pretend I died since yesterday!” Amazement came into both their faces. “Since yesterday?” they repeated in one bewildered echo. The stranger frowned. “What is there strange about that?” he asked, irritably, impressed, nevertheless, by their evidently genuine astonishment. “Where--where were you yesterday, Harry?” asked the young woman unsteadily, as though scarcely daring to probe some awful mystery. He laughed shortly in impatience. “Why, of course----” he began in confident tones. He stopped, a baffled look suddenly in his eyes. “Of course----” he began again, less confidently. Then he gave it up. “I--I can’t remember--it’s funny!--I can’t remember where I was yesterday----” He bit his lower lip, looked around him slowly with bent and puzzled brows, plainly uneasy at this unexpected forgetfulness. “But of course I must have been here!” He put an end to his embarrassment by dogmatic assertion.