George Prince flung a leg over the casement and leaped lightly into the dim chart room. His small slender figure stood beside me, clung to me.
A moment, while we stood there together. No ray was upon us. Coniston could not see us, nor could he hear our whispers.
"Gregg."
A different voice; its throaty, husky quality gone. A soft pleading. "Gregg—Gregg, don't you know me? Gregg, dear...."
Why, what was this? Not George Prince? A masquerader, yet so like George Prince.
"Gregg don't you know me?"
Clinging to me. A soft touch upon my arm. Fingers, clinging. A surge of warm, tingling current was flowing between us.
My sweep of instant thoughts. A speck of human Earth dust falling free. That was George Prince who had been killed. George Prince's body, disguised by the scheming Carter and Dr. Frank, buried in the guise of his sister. And this black-robed figure who was trying to help me....
"Anita! Anita darling—"
"Gregg, dear one!"