Armed with the keys and the legal title, I took possession. In the daylight it was much as it had been the night before. Once across its threshold, one was in dank and furtive suppression; the air was heavy; a mould of age had streaked the walls and gloomed the shadows. I put up all the curtains to let in the rush of sunlight, likewise I opened the windows. If there is anything to beat down sin, it is the open measure of broad daylight. The house was well situated; from the front windows one could look down the street and out at the blue bay beyond the city. The fog had lifted and the sun was shining upon the water. I could make out the ferryboats, the islands, and the long piers that lead to Oakland, and still farther beyond the hills of Berkeley. It was a long time since those days in college. Under the shadow of those hills I had first met the old doctor. I was only a boy then. I turned into the building. Even the sound of my footsteps was foreign; the whole place was pregnant with stillness and shadow; life was gone out. It was fearful; I felt the terror clutching upon me, a grimness that may not be spoken; there was something breaking within me. I had pledged myself for a year. Frankly I was afraid. But I had given my word. I returned to my apartments and began that very day the closing down of my practice. In a fortnight I had completed everything and had moved my things to the room of Chick Watson. XIII ALBERT JEROME Just as soon as possible I hurried over to Berkeley. I went straight to the bungalow on Dwight Way; I inquired for Miss Holcomb. She was a woman now in her late twenties, decidedly pretty, a blonde, and of intelligent bearing. Coming on such an errand, I was at a loss just how to approach her. I noted the little lines about the corners of her eyes, the sad droop of her pretty mouth. Plainly she was worried. As I was removing my hat she caught sight of the ring upon my finger. “Oh,” she said; “then you come from Mr. Watson. How is Chick?” “Mr. Watson”--I did not like lying, but I could not but feel for her; she had already lost her father--“Mr. Watson has gone on a trip up-country--with Jerome. He was not feeling well. He has left this ring with me. I have come for a bit of information.” She bit her lips; her mouth quivered. “Couldn't you get this from Mr. Watson? He knows about the stone. Didn't he tell you? How did it come into your possession? What has happened?” Her voice was querulous and suspicious. I had endeavoured to deceive her for her own sake; she had suffered enough already. I could not but wince at the pain in her eyes. She stood up. “Please, Mr. Wendel; don't be clumsy. Don't regard me as a mere baby. Tell me what has happened to Chick. Please--” She stopped in a flow of emotion. Tears came to her eyes; but she held control. She sat down.