That ride back—shall I ever forget it! It was as if an evil genius was halting me by every means malevolence could devise. Before I reached the highway the moon disappeared and the darkness settled down like a blanket. The wind was in my face this way and it stung till the water ran out of my eyes. Squinting through tears I had to make out the line of the road, black between black hedges and blacker fields. I went as fast as I dared—nothing must happen to me that night for if _I_ failed her, Carol was lost. With the desire to let the car out as if I was competing in the Vanderbilt Cup Race, I had to slow down for corners and creep through the long winding ways that threaded the woods. And finally—in a barren stretch without a light or a house in sight a tire blew out! I won’t write about it—what’s the use? It’s enough to say it was nearly six, and the East pale with the new day, when I rushed into Jersey City. I was desperate then, and police or no police, flashed like a gray streak through the town to the ferry. On the boat I had time to think. I decided to phone her, tell her I was coming and to be dressed and ready. I could still get her off three or four hours ahead of them. I stopped at the first drug store and called her up. The wait seemed endless, then a drawling, nasal voice said, "I can’t raise the number. Lenox 1360 don’t answer." I got back in the car with my teeth set—sleeping so sound on this morning of all mornings! Poor, unsuspecting Carol! The day was bright, the slanting sun rays touching roofs and chimneys, when I ran up along the curb at her door. An old man in a dirty jumper who was sweeping the sidewalk, stopped as he saw me leap out and run up the steps. The outer door was shut and as I turned I almost ran into him, standing at my heels with his broom in his hand. He said he was the janitor, took a bunch of keys from his pocket, and unlocked the door, fastening the two leaves back as I pressed her bell. There was no answering click of the latch and I tried the inner door—fast, and all my shaking failed to budge it. "Isn’t Miss Whitehall here?" I said, turning on the man who was watching me interestedly. "Sure," he answered. "Anyways she was last night. She talked to me down the dumbwaiter at seven and told me she wasn’t going till this afternoon." "Open the door," I ordered, speaking as quietly as I could. "She’s probably asleep—I’ve an important message for her, and I want to give it now before I go downtown." He did as I told him and I ran up the stairs, and pressed the electric button at her door. As I waited I heard the janitor’s slow steps pounding up behind me, but from the closed apartment there was not a sound. "She ain’t there, I guess," he said as he gained the landing. "She must have gone last night." I turned on him: "Have you a key for this apartment?" "I’ve a key for every apartment," he answered, holding out the bunch in his hand. "Then open the door. If she’s not here I’ve got to know it."