She could not risk going in the door, lest she run into Larry or Cathy drinking a nocturnal glass of milk or Mike raiding the refrigerator for snacks. “She has improved her style,” someone declared. . " "Murder him!" cried Trenchard shuddering. From the further end of the apartment came the low music of a violin. She looked paler than ever; but her countenance, though bewildered, did not exhibit the alarm which might naturally have been anticipated from the strange and perplexing scene presented to her view. What of Gosse, whom those soldiers had allowed to escape? Hiding—or perhaps gone. ‘Still more would I be so if he had come himself to tell me this.
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