“Knew what?”

“That she wasn’t playing fair...”  Her face was lighted with a primitive malevolence.  “She isn’t straight!”

He tried to pull himself up in prideful refutation, but the effort failed.  He was turning away defeated when a knock sounded on the door.  Watson entered.  Ginger drew herself flatly against the wall.  The attorney gave a significant glance in her direction as he said to Starratt: 

“Your wife is waiting in the hall ... just around the corner.  I thought it best to ...”

Ginger came forward quickly.  “Good-by!” she said, hurriedly.

He put out a hand to her.  She moved a little nearer and, suddenly, quite suddenly, she kissed him.  He drew back a little, and presently she was gone...

He looked up to find Helen standing before him.  She was a little pale and her lips more scarlet than ever, and her thick, black eyebrows sharply defined.  He had never seen her look so disagreeably handsome.

“That woman who just went out,” she began, coolly, “she’s the same one who—­”

“Yes,” he interrupted, crisply.

“Who is she?”

He looked at her steadily; she did not flinch.  “A friend of mine.”

Her lip curled disdainfully.  “Oh!” she said, and she sat down.

* * * * *

Toward evening they came for him, or rather Watson did, with a taxicab.

“Everything has gone nicely,” Watson explained, pridefully.  “You certainly were lucky in having Hilmer for a friend ... no humiliation, no publicity.”

Fred, standing before the bureau mirror, brushed his hair.  “Where are you taking me now?” he inquired.

“To the detention hospital...  You’ll stay there a week or so for observation...  It’s a mere form.”

“And from there?”

“To the state hospital at Fairview.”

Fred Starratt flung down the brush.  “Why don’t you call it by its right name? ...  I’m told it’s an insane asylum.”

Watson stared and then came forward with a little threatening gesture.  “You better not start any rough-house, Starratt—­at the eleventh hour!” he admonished, with a significant warmth.

Fred turned slowly, breaking into a laugh.  “Rough-house?” he echoed.  “Don’t be afraid. ...  I’ve got to the curious stage now.  I want to see the whole picture.”  He reached for his hat.  “I’m ready ... let’s go.”

A half hour later Fred Starratt was booked at the detention hospital.  They took away his clothes and gave him a towel and a nightgown and led him to a bathroom...  Presently he was shown to his cell-like room.  Overhead the fading day filtered in ghostly fashion through a skylight; an iron bed stood against the wall.  There was not another stick of furniture in sight.

He crawled into his bed and the attendant left him, switching on an electric light from the outside.  A nurse with supper followed shortly—­a bowl of thin soup and two slices of dry bread.  Fred Starratt lifted the bowl to his lips and drank a few mouthfuls.  The stuff was without flavor, but it quenched his burning thirst...  After a while he broke the bread into small bits—­not only because he was hungry, but because he was determined to eat this bitter meal to the last crumb.  When he had finished he felt mysteriously sealed to indifference.