"Nothing now. Please don't remain," she interrupted. "I shall go to my room at once."

Garrison realized she was in no condition for further questioning. Whatsoever the status of the case or his doubts, there was nothing more possible, with Dorothy in this present condition. He knew she very much desired to be alone.

"But—when shall I see you? What shall I——" he started.

"I can't tell. Please go," she interrupted, and she sank back once more on the cushions, looking at him wildly for a moment, and then averting her gaze. "Please don't stay another minute."

He could not stay. His mind was confused as to his duty. He knew that he loved her and wished to remain; he knew he was under orders and must go. Disturbed and with worry at his heart, he took her hand for one brief pressure.

"Don't forget I'm your friend—and protector," he said. "Please don't forget."

He took his hat, said good-by, saw her lips frame a brief, half-audible reply, then slipped from the room, to avoid giving undue notice to the Robinsons, went silently down the stairs to the door, and let himself out in the street.

Aware, in a dim sort of way, that a "shadow" was once more lurking on his trail, as he left the house, he was almost indifferent to the fellow's intrusion, so much more disturbing had been the climax of his visit with Dorothy.

The outcome of his announcement concerning her uncle's death had affected Dorothy so instantaneously as to leave him almost without hope. The blow had reacted on himself with staggering force. He was sickened by the abruptness with which the accusing circumstances had culminated. And yet, despite it all, he loved her more than before—with a fierce, aggressive love that blindly urged him to her future protection and defense.

His half-formed plan to visit the dealer who had sold the cigars departed from his mind. He wanted no more facts or theories that pointed as so many were pointing. Indeed, he knew not where he was going, or what he meant to do, till at length a sign on a window aroused him to a sense of things neglected. The sign read simply: