"Is your car outside, John?" Merkle shook his head. He was thinking swiftly. "I wouldn't dare risk that, anyhow. The driver is a new man." "Get a cab," Jim offered, in a panic. "The cab-driver would be sure to--" "I'll drive," Bob volunteered. "I'm drunk, but I've done it before when I was drunker. It's an old trick of mine--sort of a joke, see? Give me some money--a cabby'll do anything for money at this time o' night." Merkle eyed the speaker in momentary doubt, then handed him a roll of bank-notes. "It's a serious business, Bob, but--this is worse, and we've no time to lose--Jarvis can't stay here. There's somebody else to consider besides us and--Miss Lynn. I'm thinking about Mrs. Hammon and the girls." Hammon groaned. "But we mustn't leave a trail, understand? Now go quickly, and--do the best you can." He followed Bob to the door and let him out. Instead of returning to the library, however, Merkle stepped swiftly down the hall, then, without knocking, opened the door to Lilas Lynn's bedroom and entered. Lilas was busied at her dressing-table; an open traveling-bag jammed with articles of wearing-apparel stood on the bed. At his entrance she uttered a frightened cry and a silver spoon slipped from her nerveless fingers. Merkle saw also a little open box with several compartments, a glass of water, the cap of a pearl-and-gold fountain-pen, but took scant notice of them, being too deeply stirred and too much surprised at her appearance. She was no longer the vital, dashing girl he had known, but a pallid, cringing wreck of a woman. She shrank back at sight of him, babbling unintelligible words and cowering as if expecting a blow. "Did you shoot him?" he asked, grimly. Shivering, choking, speechless, Lilas stared at him. Her hair was disarranged; it hung in wisps and strings over her neck and brow; her eyes were dull and distended, like those of a person just recovering from the effects of an anesthetic. It was doubtful if she even recognized him. A repetition of his question brought no reply. Seizing her roughly, he shook her, muttering savagely: "If I were sure, by God, I'd strangle you!" She remained limp; her expressionless stare did not change. Merkle heard a stir behind him and found Jimmy Knight's blanched face peering in at him. Even fright could not entirely rob the younger man's features of their sly inquisitiveness. "Mr. Hammon's calling you," said Jim, then blinked at the wretchedly disheveled woman. "Here!" Merkle beckoned him with a jerk of his head. "This girl must get away from here. She'll ruin everything in her condition. Try to put her in some kind of shape while Lorelei packs her bag. We had better get her out of the country if we can." Jim's quick eyes took in the articles on the dressing-table. "Ha! Dope," he exclaimed. "She's a coker--she's filled herself up. But, say--you don't really think she--did it, do you?"