When at length Doris appeared, Cord was struck with the pallid beauty of the girl. Her animation and glow had departed, and her red lips, usually a Cupid's-bow of laughter, drooped pitifully at the corners. Her high-necked gown of deepest black gave her the look of a sorrowing nun. Nor did her manner reassure him; it was vague and remote, and Cord, who had meant to pour out his heart in sympathy, found himself chilled, and stammering forth absurd inanities. The half-hour passed on leaden foot. Doris explained, in a listless voice, that she was leaving soon, with her aunt, for the Continent, to travel indefinitely. She had meant to go away, quietly, without a word, but she found that she wished to see him once more--she faltered piteously. Cord stood up abruptly. The interview had suddenly become unendurable to him. "I shall see you again to-morrow!" he assured her. She shook her head sadly. "This is the end, dear Cord. Our paths lie apart in the future. Yours is a fair, shining one, with success just ahead. Mine----" She gave a gesture of despair. "Good-bye!" Cord took both her hands in his. "Good-night! I shall come again in the morning." He felt an almost overmastering desire to take her into his arms, to whisper into her ear the secret of the report. She walked with him to the outer door and let him out into the cool darkness of the night. "Good-bye!" she said again. She seemed vaguely uneasy, and bent forward, peering about her. "Is that your taxi-cab?" she asked sharply. Cord reassured her. "I--I have a presentiment that something is going to happen." She spoke in a low voice, full of emotion. "You will be careful--for my sake?" Cord laughed, with a commingling of the joy and tender pride which a man feels toward the anxiety of the one woman in the world. "I will be most careful," he promised, "and I will report my welfare to you in the morning!" The door closed between them, and he went down the steps, whistling cheerfully. The taxi-cab drew alongside. He gave the address to the driver, and sprang in, triumphant, hopeful. In front of the house of the detective, he descended and halted a moment upon the pavement, searching in an inner pocket for change. Something rushed upon him from behind; he swerved, instinctively, and received a stinging blow across the head and neck. As he sank helplessly to his knees, blinded by pain, but still conscious, a hand from behind inserted itself into his pocket. Cord resisted with all his strength. "Smith!" he shouted. Something heavy descended upon his head. There was a sudden blaze of falling stars all about him,--and then blackness, oblivion. When he regained consciousness, he was lying upon a couch, and Smith was bending over him. "That was a narrow squeak, my friend!" he said cheerfully. "You may thank your lucky stars that you missed the full force of that first blow."