CHAPTER FIFTEEN—THE CLEW
PAUL VENIZA, propped up in bed on his pillows, followed Claire with his eyes as she moved about the room. It was perhaps because he had been too ill of late to notice anything, that he experienced now a sudden shock at Claire's appearance. She looked pale and drawn, and even her movements seemed listless.
“What's to-night?” he asked abruptly.
“Wednesday, father,” she answered.
Paul Veniza plucked at the counterpane. It was all too much for Claire. Besides—besides Crang, she had been up all night for the last two nights, and since Monday she had not been out of the house.
“Put on your hat, dear, and run over and tell Hawkins I want to see him,” he smiled.
Claire stared at the old pawnbroker.
“Why, father,” she protested, “it's rather late, isn't it? And, besides, you would be all alone in the house.”