With a low and bitter cry the young man dropped to his knees by her side. In the outer office the police were assembled in excited conclave, blind to all save the momentous fact of Anisty's last, supremely consistent act. For the time Maitland was utterly alone with his great and aching loneliness. After a little while timidly he touched her hand. It lay upturned, white slender fingers like exotic petals curling in upon the rosy hollow of her palm. And it was soft and warm. He lifted it tenderly in both his own, and so held it for a space, brooding, marveling at its perfection. And inevitably he bent and touched it with his lips, as if their ardent contact would warm it to sentience.... The fingers tightened upon his own, slowly, surely; and in the blinding joy of that moment he was made conscious of the ineffable sweetness of opening, wondering eyes. XVI RECESSIONAL "_Hm, hrumm!_" Thus Hickey, the inopportunely ubiquitous, lumbering hastily in from the other office and checking, in an extreme of embarrassment, in the middle of the floor. Maitland glanced over his shoulder, and, subduing a desire to flay the man alive, released the girl's hand. "I say, Hickey," he observed, carefully suppressing every vestige of emotion, "will you lend me a hand here? Bring a chair, please, and a glass of water." The detective stumbled over his feet and brought the chair at the risk of his neck. Then he went away and returned with the water. In the meantime the girl, silently enough for all that her eyes were speaking, with Maitland's assistance arose and seated herself. "You will have to stay here a few minutes," he told her, "until--er--" "I understand," she told him in a choking tone. Hickey awkwardly handed her the glass. She sipped mechanically. "I have a cab below," continued Maitland. "And I'll try to arrange it so that we can get out of the building without having to force a way through the crowd." She thanked him with a glance. "There's th' freight elevator," suggested Hickey helpfully. "Thank you.... Is there anything I can do for you, anything you wish?" continued Maitland to the girl, standing between her and the detective. She lifted her face to his and shook her head, very gently. "No," she breathed through trembling lips. "You--you've been--" But there was a sob in her throat, and she hung her head again. "Not a word," ordered Maitland. "Sit here for a few minutes, if you can, drink the water and--ah--fix up your hat, you know," (damn Hickey! Why the devil did the fellow insist on hanging round so!) "and I will go and make arrangements." "Th-thank you," whispered the small voice shakily. Maitland hesitated a moment, then turned upon Hickey in sudden exasperation. His manner was enough; even the obtuse detective could not ignore it. Maitland had no need to speak.