John Bruce folded the letter. As he did so, he noted that his signature was a good two or three inches above the thumb nail mark. He placed the letter in the envelope, and addressed the latter as Crang had directed. Crang moved around to the other side of the table, tucked the envelope into his pocket, and grinned mockingly. And then without a word John Bruce got up from his chair, and flung himself face down on the mattress again. CHAPTER FIFTEEN--THE CLEW |PAUL VENIZA, propped up in bed on his pillows, followed Claire with his eyes as she moved about the room. It was perhaps because he had been too ill of late to notice anything, that he experienced now a sudden shock at Claire's appearance. She looked pale and drawn, and even her movements seemed listless. “What's to-night?” he asked abruptly. “Wednesday, father,” she answered. Paul Veniza plucked at the counterpane. It was all too much for Claire. Besides--besides Crang, she had been up all night for the last two nights, and since Monday she had not been out of the house. “Put on your hat, dear, and run over and tell Hawkins I want to see him,” he smiled. Claire stared at the old pawnbroker. “Why, father,” she protested, “it's rather late, isn't it? And, besides, you would be all alone in the house.” “Nonsense!” said Paul Veniza. “I'm all right. Much better. I'll be up to-morrow. But I particularly want to see Hawkins to-night.” He did not particularly want to see Hawkins or any one else, but if he did not have some valid excuse she would most certainly refuse to go out and leave him alone. A little walk and a breath of fresh air would do Claire a world of good. And as for the lateness of the hour, Claire in that section of the city was as safe as in her own home. “Please do as I ask you, Claire,” he insisted. “Very well, father,” she agreed after a moment's hesitation, and went and put on her hat. From downstairs, as she opened the front door, she called up to him a little anxiously: “You are sure you are all right?” “Quite sure, dear,” Paul Veniza called back. “Don't hurry.” Claire stepped out on the street. It was not far to go--just around the first corner and halfway down the next block--and at first she walked briskly, impelled by an anxiety to get back to the house again as soon as possible, but insensibly, little by little, her footsteps dragged. What was it? Something in the night, the darkness, that promised a kindly cloak against the breaking of her self-restraint, that bade her let go of herself and welcome the tears that welled so spontaneously to her eyes? Would it bring relief? To-day, all evening, more than ever before, she had felt her endurance almost at an end. She turned her face upward to the night. It was black; not a star showed anywhere. It seemed as though something dense and forbidding had been drawn like a somber mantle over the world. God, even, seemed far away to-night.