"Yes," she said.
His hand tightened over hers; she swayed a moment, quivering from head to foot; then drawing a quick, sobbing breath, closed her eyes, imprisoned in his arms; and, after a long while, aroused, she looked up at him, her divine eyes unclosing dreamily.
"Somebody is hammering at the front door," he breathed. "Listen!"
"I hear. I believe it must be the Tracer of Lost Persons."
"What?"
"Only a Mr. Keen."
"O Lord!" said Kerns faintly, and covered his face with her fragrant hands.
Very tenderly, very gravely, she drew her hands away, and, laying them on his shoulders, looked up at him.
"You—you know what there is in your suit case," she faltered; "are you a burglar, dear?"
"Ask the Tracer of Lost Persons," said Kerns gently, "what sort of a criminal I am!"