“Any person doing so is sure to turn the knob to the right. Such an action would mean instant death. The taboret is always prepared that way.
“Sometimes I have shuddered when Albert has opened it. He always turns the knob to the left. He has seemed so close to death — so close to death—”
THELDA’S voice trailed away. The glamour faded from her eyes. The strain had weakened her. She was on the verge of collapse.
Clarendon caught her as she was about to fall. He placed her in an armchair and looked at her with pity.
Thelda opened her eyes.
“George,” she whispered weakly, “George, I love you. Tell me that you will not — go away.”
The man in black drew a pad from his pocket and wrote a few penciled words. He folded the paper and placed it in the girl’s hand.
“Thelda,” he said sternly, “I do not condemn you for your past actions. You have made amends. Your future will be different. You must forget Albert Palermo.”
“I have forgotten him.”
“You must forget me.”