Winifred met his look with comprehension, and gave him her hand.
A faint sound reached them from the Latimer's apartment across the way as Danvers opened the door. He listened, then ran across the hall.
"What's that?" cried Winifred, startled.
Fate, woman-like, cares not what means she employs to hurt. She takes what comes first to hand. Sometimes the more unlikely the weapon, the more effective is its use.
The same afternoon that Danvers tried to overtake Miss Blair, two talkative drummers boarded the west-bound train at a small Montana station, doubling back to Helena. As they entered the smoking compartment of a sleeper they found it empty save for a slight, weary-looking man who was gazing abstractedly at the wintry plains.
"Here, don't sit that side," said one; "the sun glares on the snow too much."
As the drummer spoke to his friend he gave a passing glance at the preoccupied stranger, and chanced to take the seat directly in front of him. The other followed his advice, facing him.