“No chance,” said Dorothy. “I shall be waiting for you.” And then: “How long do you think it will be?” “You’ll know definitely after Christmas eve, next dark of the moon, you know.” He was smiling, the smile that Ruth had grown to suspect hid a serious thought. “Either the paralysis will have crept up to my heart, or it will have gone entirely. I am waiting.” Dorothy laughed nervously. “What nonsense; of course you’ll get well and the moon hasn’t anything to do with it anyway. We’re awfully sorry that you’re ill, and don’t forget to let me know when you get back to town.” When Ruth took his hand to say good-bye she thought he looked at her reproachfully, but she dared not meet his eyes. Dorothy was looking down at the pictured face of Gloria that was smiling up at them, but apparently she looked with unseeing eyes, for she did not say anything. In a way it would have relieved Ruth’s conscience if Dorothy had spoken. She might then have discovered whether Pendragon knew of her deception and what he thought. One thing she knew. Professor Pendragon was really facing death—a mysterious, relentless death that could not be overcome or even combated. When he died no one would search for his murderer—no one would believe that his death was anything but natural, and the force that had killed him would still go on through the world, too mysterious and unbelievable for modern minds to compass. CHAPTER IX It was the first time that Ruth had seen Prince Aglipogue, though apparently he was on the most congenial and intimate terms of friendship with Gloria. He was at the piano now, accompanying himself, while he sang in Italian. He had glossy black eyes, glossy red lips, glossy black hair, smooth glossy cheeks and what Terry described as a grand opera figure. He was a Roumanian, and while he sang magnificently, was a passable pianist and a really good violinist, he was at present earning his living as a painter. Gloria had finished her motion picture contract and was relaxing. Ruth had just come home from the League and found Gloria, Terry, Billie Irwin, Prince Aglipogue and Angela Peyton-Russell at the house. Ben Stark had at last started out on tour, or he would also have been there. Ruth often thought that her aunt’s house was more like a club than a home. Of course Ruth did not immediately learn all the foregoing details about Prince Aglipogue, whom Gloria called Aggie, and the others called Prince. Her information came in scraps gathered from the conversation of the others. She had slipped quietly into the room while Prince Aglipogue was singing and was introduced to him when he had finished. He bowed with surprising depth and grace for a man with no waist line to speak of, and regarded her out of his glossy, black eyes. He spoke entirely without accent, but constructed his sentences curiously, Ruth thought.