Doctor Burroughs' office was in an oyster-colored apartment house. In a window on the ground floor she read the blue porcelain name of Doctor Burroughs--very large; and Doctor Dacer--very small. She entered a hall that was low and decorated in the style of a Florentine palace. Miss Waverley, with her white hair brushed straighter than ever, answered the door. "Have you an appointment with the doctor?" She spoke very politely, but there was a hint that without an appointment-- "I think he'll see me for a minute," said Lita. She was far from feeling certain of this; and if he refused, she did not know exactly what she could do except sit on the doorstep. She was shown into the waiting room. A complete silence fell upon the room--the house--the city. Then a returning rustling of starched skirts in the narrow passageway was heard. The doctor would see her. She was led down the long corridor to a small room filled for the most part by a desk. A door was standing open into a larger room beyond, which was lined with white tiles and decorated with glass cases along the walls in which hideous instruments were displayed as if they were objects of art. The nurse having ushered Lita into the first room, retired to the second, where she remained without shutting the door between, and could be heard moving about and doing something with instruments that made a soft, continual clinking. Dacer rose slowly from his desk, on which cards in several colors were strewn. He said in his deep voice, "Yes, I thought it might be you." "Doctor Dacer--" Lita began. Her throat was dry. "Oh, don't explain," he said. "What's the use?" For the first time she saw that she had no explanation whatsoever to offer. She could only say, "I haven't any idea why that man suddenly appeared at the house." It sounded feeble, even to her. "Perhaps to inquire about Aurelia," answered Dacer, and permitted himself a most disagreeable smile. "That's not funny," said Lita. "It's not original. I got the main idea from someone else." "Doctor Dacer, I never saw Mr. Valentine--nor wrote to him. The only explanation I can think of is--" Miss Waverley entered. "Mr. Andrews on the telephone, doctor." Dacer snatched up the telephone as if it were a captured standard, saying as he did so, "Perhaps while I'm telephoning you'll be able to think of the explanation." But she wasn't able to think at all. She could just stare at him. "Yes," she heard him saying, "there is a--someone is here at the moment, but I shall be free directly." He hung up the receiver and replaced the telephone on the desk. "Well," he said, "have you got something good ready for me?" She had one small idea. "Can't you see that if things were as you think I would hardly have left Mr. Valentine to follow you, at once?" "Oh, quite a time has gone by!" "Because I had to walk--I had no money with me. Walk? No, I ran!"