Hildegarde switched on more lights as her father and Cantor carried the man to a lounge. She could see that his hands were badly burnt, but what was more startling, more significant to her, was that his lips were broken and bleeding and blood dripped from a gash in his scalp, injuries not commonly sustained through carelessness with fireworks. She peered at her father. Manifestly he was frightened. He seemed to be looking to Cantor in a peculiar manner, not as one looks to a casual guest who is assisting in a minor emergency. Hildegarde wondered at that look. The man jerked convulsively, struggled to sit up. "Leggo!" he said, hoarsely. "Leggo!" Then he saw and recognized Cantor. "Good job--" he began, and then stopped suddenly, peering craftily at Hildegarde. "Good job it wasn't anythin' but a little skyrocket," he finished. Hildegarde was standing tense, white. "There's blood on your coat," she said, in a choked voice. "Where were you shooting fireworks?" she demanded, and looked from the chauffeur to her father. Her father was still looking at Cantor. "Go to bed," said von Essen, roughly. "You're in the way here." "I would go if I were you, Miss von Essen. This isn't a pleasant sight for you." "I don't suppose that poor watchman in the ambulance was a pleasant sight, either," she said, her eyes on the chauffeur. The man started erect. "What's that?... What you say?... What you mean?" Cantor's hand was on his arm, and Hildegarde's eyes were sharp enough to see that his fingers crushed in savagely. "Be still! Sit down!" he said, and the man obeyed sullenly. "Go to bed," von Essen said, savagely. Hildegarde was thinking, piecing together the evidence of her eyes and ears.... Cantor.... What had he to do with this? He seemed rightly to be a part of it.... His manner when he spoke to Philip! "Will you go to bed?" her father said, stepping toward her. "I'm going," she said, unsteadily, almost hysterically. Indeed, she laughed unnaturally. "But before I go--I thought you'd like to know about--another great German victory.... They've burned part of the Waite Motor Company--and murdered a man.... Murdered a man!..." She turned and ran up the stairs to her room. When she was out of hearing von Essen turned savagely to his chauffeur, "What made you come here like this, you fool?" "Where else would he go?" Cantor asked, sharply. "No harm's done." "What's this about--a murder?" von Essen asked, shakily. "Their damn watchman jumped me--one of them," said Philip. "Before I could let him have it he landed on me--twice.... But I got him and got him good.... For God's sake aren't you ever going to do anything to stop this pain in my hands?" Von Essen was shaking flabbily; his arrogance had disappeared; his cheeks were pasty. "You've got the nerve of a rabbit," Cantor said, sneeringly.