"Very well," she said, her voice suddenly softer. "In a moment, Nick." She turned to Mueller. "Would you mind telling me why you waited until now to interfere? We've been here two hours, you know." "Sure I'll tell you. I got no orders to interfere, that's why." "Then why did you?" queried Pat tartly. "I didn't until I saw him there"--he nodded at Nick--"put his arms around you. Then I figured, having no orders, it was time to use my own judgment." "If any!" sniffed the girl. She turned again to Nick; her face softened, became very tender. "Honey," she murmured huskily, "I guess it's good-bye now. I'll be fighting with you; you know that." "I know that," he echoed, looking down into her eyes. "I'm almost happy, Pat." "When'll you go?" she whispered in tones inaudible to Mueller. "I don't know," he answered, his voice unchanged. "I'll have to make some sort of preparations--and I don't want you to know." She nodded. She gazed at him a moment longer with tear-bright eyes. "Good-bye, Nick," she whispered. She rose on tiptoe, and kissed him very lightly on his lips, then turned and walked quickly away, with Mueller following behind. She walked on, ignoring him until he halted beside her at the crossing of the Drive. Then she gave him a cold glance. "Why is Dr. Carl having him watched?" she asked. Mueller shrugged. "The ins and outs of this case are too much for me," he said. "I do what I'm paid to do." "You're not watching him now." "Nope. Seemed like the Doctor would think it was more important to get you home." "You're wasting your time," she said irritably as the lights changed and they stepped into the street. "I was going home anyway." "Well, now you got company all the way." Mueller's voice was placid. The girl sniffed contemptuously, and strode silently along. The other's presence irritated her; she wanted time and solitude to consider the amazing story Nicholas Devine had given her. She wanted to analyze her own feelings, and most of all she wanted just a place of privacy to cry out her misery. For now the loss of Nicholas Devine had changed from a fortunate escape to a tragedy, and liar, madman, or devil, she wanted him terribly, with all the power of her tense little heart. So she moved as swiftly as she could, ignoring the silent companionship of Mueller. They reached her home; the light in the living room window was evidence that the bridge game was still in progress. She mounted the steps, Mueller watching her silently from the walk; she fumbled for her key.