"Rose Clymer! Bessy Bell's friend!"
"Yes, Mr. Lane. I'm not so surprised as you. I recognized you last night."
"Then it was you who passed me in the hall?"
"Yes."
"Well! And you're ill? What is the matter? Ah! Last night—it was your—your father—I heard?"
"Yes," she answered. "I've not been well since—for a long time, and I gave out last night."
"Here I am talking when I might be of some use," said Lane, and he hurried out of the room. The landlady had discreetly retired to the other end of the hall. He thrust some money into her hands.
"She seems pretty sick. Do all you can for her, be kind to her. I'll pay. I'm going for a doctor."
He telephoned for Doctor Bronson.
An hour later Lane, coming upstairs from his meal, met the physician at Rose's door. He looked strangely at Lane and shook his head.