“Miss Mackwayte, I daren’t interrupt him now. Do you know who’s with him...?”
Strangwise crossed the room to where Barbara was standing.
“I can guess what brings you here, Miss Mackwayte,” he said gently. “I hope you will allow me to express my condolences...?”
The girl shrank back, almost imperceptibly, yet Strangwise, whose eyes were fixed on her pale face, noticed the spontaneous recoil. The sunshine seemed to fade out of his debonair countenance, and for a moment Barbara Mackwayte saw Maurice Strangwise as very few people had ever seen him, stern and cold and hard, without a vestige of his constant smile. But the shadow lifted as quickly as it had fallen. His face had resumed its habitually engaging expression as he murmured:
“Believe me, I am truly sorry for you!”
“Thank you, thank you!” Barbara said hastily and brushed past him. She walked straight across the room to the door of the Chief’s room, turned the handle and walked in.
The room was in darkness save for an electric reading lamp on the desk which threw a beam of light on the faces of two men thrust close together in eager conversation. One was the Chief, the other a face that Barbara knew well from the illustrated papers.
At the sound of the door opening, the Chief sprang to his feet.
“Oh, it’s Miss Mackwayte,” he said, and added something in a low voice to the other man who had risen to his feet. “My dear,” he continued aloud to Barbara, “I will see you immediately; we must not be disturbed now. Matthews should have told you.”
“Chief,” cried Barbara, her hands clasped convulsively together, “you must hear me now. What I have to say cannot wait. Oh, you must hear me!”