“I know I did,” Crang interrupted brusquely, “but we're all here a little early and there's lots of time to countermand the other car.” He indicated Paul Veniza with a jerk of his head. “He's far from as well as he was last night. At least you'll admit that I'm a _good_ doctor, and when I tell you he is not fit to go this morning that ought to be enough for both of you. I'll phone and tell them not to send the limousine.” Still Claire hesitated. Paul Veniza had closed his eyes. Crang shrugged his shoulders. “You can do as you like, but I don't imagine”--a snarl crept into his voice--“that it will give him any joy to witness the ceremony, or you to have him. Suit yourselves; but I won't answer for the consequences.” “I'll go,” said Claire simply--and as Paul Veniza lifted himself up suddenly in protest, she forced him gently back upon the couch again. “It's better that way,” she said, and for a moment talked to him in low, earnest tones, then kissed him, and rose, and walked out from the room. Crang, with a grunt of approval, started toward the telephone. “Wait!” Paul Veniza had raised himself on his elbow. Crang turned and faced the other with darkened face. “It is not too late even now at the last moment!” Paul Veniza's face was drawn with agony. “I know you for what you are, and in the name of God I charge you not to do this thing. It is foul and loathsome, the basest passion--and whatever crimes lay at your door, even if murder be among them, no one of them is comparable with this, for you do more than take a human life, you desecrate a soul pure as the day God gave it life, and----” The red surged into Crang's face, and changed to mottled purple. “Damn you!” he flung out hoarsely. “Hold your cackling tongue! This is my wedding morning--understand?” He laughed out raucously. “My wedding morning--and I'm in a hurry!” Paul Veniza raised himself a little higher. White his face was--white as death. “Then God have mercy on your soul!” he cried. And Crang stared for a moment, then turned on his heel--and laughed. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR--THE RIDE |JOHN BRUCE turned the corner, and, on the opposite side of the street, drew back under the shelter of a door porch where he could command a view of the entrance to Paul Veniza's house. And now he stood motionless, waiting with cold patience, his eyes fixed on the doorway across the street. He was there because Crang was either at the present moment within the house, or presently would come to the house. It was nearly eight o'clock. The old traveling pawn-shop was drawn up before the door. He had no definite plan now. No plan was needed. He was simply waiting for Crang. His eyes had not left the doorway. Suddenly, tense, he leaned a little forward. The door opened. No; it was only Hawkins! He relaxed again.