“Ah!” Doctor Crang stared at her. His hands, still reaching out to touch her, trembled; his face was hectic; his eyes were alight again with feverish hunger--and then suddenly the man seemed transformed into another being. He was on his knees beside John Bruce, and had opened his handbag in an instant, and in another he had forced something from a vial between John Bruce's lips; then an instrument was in his hands. The man of a moment before was gone; one Sydney Angus Crang, of many degrees, professional, deft, immersed in his work, had taken the other's place. “More water! An extra basin!” he ordered curtly. Claire Veniza obeyed him in a mechanical way. Her brain was numbed, exhausted, possessed of a great weariness. She watched him for a little while. He flung another order at her. “Make that couch up into a bed,” he directed. “He can't be moved even upstairs to-night.” Again she obeyed him; finally she helped him to lift John Bruce to the couch. She sat down in a chair and waited--she did not know what for. Doctor Crang had drawn another chair to the couch and sat there watching his patient. John Bruce, as far as she could tell, showed no sign of life. Then Doctor Crang's voice seemed to float out of nothingness: “He will live, Claire, my dear! By God, I'd like to have done that piece of work in a clinic! Some of 'em would sit up! D'ye hear, Claire, he'll live!” She was conscious that he was studying her; she did not look at him, nor did she answer. An eternity seemed to pass. She heard a motor stop outside in front of the house. That would be her father and Hawkins. The front door opened and closed, footsteps entered the room--and suddenly seemed to quicken and hurry forward. She rose from her chair. “What's this? What's the matter? What's happened?” a tall, white-haired man cried out. It was Doctor Crang who answered. “Oh--this, Mr. Veniza?” He waved his hand indifferently toward the couch. “Nothing of any importance.” He shrugged his shoulders in cool imperturbability, and smiled into the grave, serious face of Paul Veniza. “The really important thing is that Claire has promised to be my wife.” For an instant no one moved or spoke--only Doctor Crang still smiled. And then the silence was broken by a curious half laugh, half curse that was full of menace. “You lie!” Hawkins, the round, red-faced chauffeur, had stepped from behind Paul Veniza, and now faced Doctor Crang. “You lie! You damned coke-eater! I'd kill you first!” “Drunk--again!” drawled Doctor Crang contemptuously. “And what have you to do with it?” “Steady, Hawkins!” counselled Paul Veniza quietly. He turned to Claire Veniza. “Claire,” he asked, “is--is this true?” She nodded--and suddenly, blindly, started toward the door. “It is true,” she said. “Claire!” Paul Veniza stepped after her. “Claire, “Not to-night, father,” she said in a low voice. “Please let me go.”