For an instant Sergeant Gray was tempted to run and chance it, but the girl had turned her head and was watching them curiously. Hope died in him. He could neither run nor fight. And the group closed in on him. “’Bout face—march!” said the stable sergeant. And he marched. Inside the hallway, behind the elevator, however, he turned loose with his fists. He fought desperately, using his long arms with accuracy and precision. One of the corporals went down first. The second mess sergeant followed him. But the result was inevitable. Inside of three minutes the girl saw the little group returning to the street. One corporal held a handkerchief to his lip, and the first mess sergeant was holding together a slicker which had no longer any clasps. The stable sergeant, however, was calm and happy. He carried a slicker over his arm. “Sergeant Gray’s compliments, miss,” he said, saluting. Then, as an afterthought of particular fiendishness: “And he will be engaged for some time. If you would take charge of this slicker he’ll be much obliged to you.” He saluted again, and the group swaggered down the street. The girl sat in the car and looked after them. Then she glanced at the slicker, and a little frown gathered between her eyes. Had he, against her orders, gone back to deal with Mr. Booth alone? She was mystified and not a little indignant, and when she started the car again it was with a jerk of irritation. Inside the hallway, behind the elevator, cursed and raged Sergeant Gray. At every step in the doorway he shook with apprehension. Behind him stretched a wooden staircase, toward which he cast agonised eyes. The elevator came down, discharged its passengers, filled again and went up. Outside in the brilliant street thousands of feet passed, carrying people fully clothed and entitled to a place in the sun. Momentarily he expected the climax of his wretchedness—that the girl would tire of waiting and come into the building. He plucked up courage after a time to peer round the corner of the elevator. The car was gone. “What’ll she think of me?” he groaned. Wild schemes of revenge surged in him. Murder with torture was among them. And always while he cursed and planned his eyes were on the staircase behind him. Came a time, however, when the elevator descended empty, and the elderly man on the stool inside prepared to read a newspaper. He was startled by a husky whisper just beneath his left ear. “Say, come here a minute, will you?” He turned. Through the grille beside him a desperate face with one black eye was staring at him. “Come here yourself,” he returned uneasily. With a wild rush the owner of the face catapulted into the elevator and closed the grating. Then he turned and faced him. “Run me up, quick!” “Good God!” said the elevator man. There were steps in the entrance. With a frenzied gesture Sergeant Gray, of the Headquarters Troop of the ——th Division, gave a pull at the lever. The car descended with a jerk.