“Both!” repeated Barrison. “I can’t see that. Your daughter had something to fight for, because of the wrong done to her husband, and incidentally to herself. But where was Mortimer’s grievance?” “Well, sir,” said Wrenn slowly, as though he were seriously trying to express something rather beyond the intelligence of his hearer, “you see—maybe it hasn’t struck you, sir, but, if you’ve risked a great deal on a thing, and find that something is going to interfere with it, after all, at the last moment, you—well, sir, you are apt to lose your head over it. Aren’t you?” Barrison laughed a trifle grimly. “Crooked logic,” he remarked, “but excellent—for the crooked kind! So you sympathize with Mortimer in his annoyance at seeing your daughter?” “I don’t sympathize, sir. In a way, I may say I understand it. But when she pulled out that gun, I fell into a sweat of fear, sir, for I knew that she was afraid of nothing, and that if she’d said she’d kill him——” “Never mind how you felt! Tell me what happened!” Wrenn wiped his forehead. “She went for Mortimer, and he got to her first, and caught hold of her arms. He was very strong, but she struggled like a demon, and every minute I expected one of two things to happen, the pistol to go off or some one to hear and knock at the door. After, I suppose, two or three minutes like that, I pulled her away from him—her waist was torn in the struggle, you remember.” “I remember.” “And I managed to get her out of the door, begging her to make a run for the stage entrance and to get away if possible without being seen. It was nearly dark then, you see—not the regular dark scene, but all the lights were being lowered, because there was to be so little light on the stage.” There was silence for a moment, then Wrenn went on again: “I’ve wondered, you know, sir, several times, whether she and Kitty met that night. I’ve—I’ve been afraid of it, I confess, because I don’t believe my daughter Kitty would feel much sisterly affection for Rita. She might even give it away if she had seen her.” Barrison sat plunged in deep thought for at least two minutes, while the shaken and troubled old man watched him very anxiously indeed. At last he spoke, not ungently: “Wrenn, will you give me your word that you will not leave this place, this address, until I see you again?” He supposed that he was rather mad in asking the word of a self-confessed crook like Wrenn, but he thought he had got to the end of his tether. At any rate, the old man lifted his head with quite an influx of pride, as he answered: “Yes, Mr. Barrison!” Jim departed, with just one determination in his brain—to pay Kitty Legaye a second call as fast as a taxi would take him to the Golden Arms! CHAPTER XXVII AN INCRIMINATING LETTER