What did it mean? What _could_ it mean? I’d understood the lie about Barker but now those other lies! She had said she went down about six, in the elevator. I’d heard her, there was no getting away from it. Was _that_ the reason the old man had wanted to see her? Suddenly I saw again his look of hungry expectation when Molly was announced, and with a stifled sound, I stopped short. As lightning plays upon a dark landscape, for a moment showing it plain, I had a clear glimpse of the line of thought he’d been pursuing. The horror of it held me rooted there, rigid as a dead man, in the midst of the hurrying crowd. Incredible—hideous—unbelievable! Association with criminals had warped and diseased his judgment. And then like a sinister shadow, creeping on me dark and ominous, rose the memory of her guarded face, the flame of color she couldn’t hide, the dropped purse. I started out again, fighting the shadow, but all I had to fight with was my belief in her. She couldn’t—it was impossible, I’d die swearing it. And battering against that belief, came questions, insistent, maddening. Why couldn’t she speak out? Why didn’t she admit the truth—say that Barker was her lover and have done with it? Why had she lied—about him, about the time she left, about everything she could have frankly admitted, if—if—— When I got there I could go no farther. Cursing under my breath I forged along, the air ice-cold on the sweat that was damp on my forehead. CHAPTER X MOLLY TELLS THE STORY Friday night I brought the information from Troop in to Mr. Whitney, and knew then for the first time why he wanted it. Gee, it was an awful thought! As I sat there between him and Mr. George—Jack Reddy went away, I don’t know why—with neither of them saying a word, I saw, like it was a vision, the Harland case spreading out black and dreadful. It made me think of ink spilled on a map, running slow but sure over places that were bright and clean, trickling away in directions no one ever thought it would take. I left soon after Jack, as I could see they wanted to get rid of me. Before I went the old man said to try and get a line on the Whitehalls’ servant—I might work it through Iola—and find out what time Miss Whitehall came home the night of January fifteenth. If I couldn’t manage it I was to let him know and it could be passed on to O’Mally, but he thought I had the best chances. That, as far as he knew now, was the last he’d need of me. My work at the Black Eagle was done. The next day would be my last one there. Say nothing to anyone about it—simply drop out. The reappearance of Miss McCalmont was his affair. In the next twenty-four hours things came swift, as they do in these cases. You’ll have a long spell with the wires dead, then suddenly they’ll begin to hum. And you’ve got to be ready when it happens—jump quick as lightning. I learned that in the Hesketh case.