"Which husband? Hallowell, Graham, Morris?"
She sent him a glance that radiated venom. It was almost as if she had suddenly poisoned the air.
"The Yellow Typhoon! And you supposed I would not recognize you, never having seen you? I don't know what your game was in warning me. No matter. Morgan was right. He said you were a beautiful mirage at the mouth of hell."
"Open the door!" came from the hall.
The woman stepped through the window, sent it rattling to the sill; and that was the last Mathison saw of her for many hours. He walked to the door.
"I will open the door only upon one condition—that you inform me who it is and what is wanted of me," he declared, still in level tones.
"It's the house detective, and you're wanted, me Lord Mayor of London!"
Mathison thought rapidly. He attacked the affair from all angles. The house detective!
Against the door came the thud of a human body.