“No,” she whispered. “It’s only he——How did I know but—how did I know——” “Tell me.” “He might have—killed you!” “There was no danger of that.—You’re shivering! Do you mind getting in there—in my bed—till I get some of your things?” And he pushed her gently back into the half-dark room. “You must get warm. You must, my—my dear.” She still clung to him. “Don’t go there again,” she whispered. “But I want to get something warm for you—that fur thing.” “You can’t. It’s locked in a drawer.” “Where’s the key?” “I—I——” “Have you hidden it somewhere?” “It’s on this string—around my neck. I didn’t want him to get it.” “Get it! For what?” She wouldn’t say any more. But even as he asked the question he knew—for the money he might raise on it. “Let me have the key,” he said. “No, please!” she remonstrated. “You mustn’t go—you mustn’t. When he drinks he’s out of his mind—a maniac; you don’t know what terrible things he might do.” “He can’t do much now—his gun’s out there in the grass.” She stared up at Haworth. “Was that it—when the glass broke?” He nodded. After a moment she undid the string and gave him the key. But her hands were trembling. “Does he do this often?” Haworth inquired. “Not with—with one of those things.” “Gun, you mean?” He could feel her head nodding “yes” as it rested against him. “But last night,” she went on, “he—told me—if I didn’t give him the key to-night he’d——” A slight shudder passed over her. “Nothing like that’ll happen here, so please don’t worry.” She looked up in his face, which she could just see—a whiteness in the gloom. “I didn’t mind so much till he fired it once,—not—not _at_ me, but I didn’t know that, and ever since I can’t—seem to——” She shuddered again in his arms. “He won’t fire it again.... Your hands are like ice. Do please crawl in there and pull the blankets over you.” And he urged her toward the disordered pillows. When she had turned and moved away in the dimness, Haworth went back to the Findlay room and unlocked the door. Taking the key out of the lock, he stepped inside, closed the door and locked it again, putting the key in the pocket of his pajamas. Augustus was sitting on the bed. He appeared to be trying to figure out what had happened to him. “You again!” he mumbled. Haworth didn’t take the trouble to glance in his direction but went across to the bureau and unlocked the drawers with the key Edith had given him, then piled the contents across his left arm, leaving his right free for other purposes. On these things he tossed whatever articles of feminine apparel he could find about the room, including a pair of little fur-lined slippers which he handled with the utmost consideration. He also made a clean sweep of the toilet articles on the dressing table, managing to hold them on top of the other things with his left hand backward over them. Then he returned to the door and was taking the key out of his pocket with his free hand when Augustus spoke again.