" "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. Wild in his own domain. Martha was quite right. He stalked her, he stared at her, he craved her, he sidled slinking and propitiatory and yet relentlessly toward her, until at last she awoke from the suffocating nightmare nearness of his approach, and lay awake in fear and horror listening to the unaccustomed sounds of the hotel. She sings twice a week at the ‘Ambassador’s’ and the ‘Casino Mavise’——” Sir John held up his hand.
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