The rhetoric mistress had left the office with a low turned lamp, and Jasper Penny stopped, taking the furred wrap from Susan’s shoulders.  She slowly untied the velvet strings of her bonnet, and laid it on the table.  She extended her hands toward him, and, taking their cool slightness, he drew her to him.  She rested with the fragrance of her cheek against his face, with her hands pressed to his breast.  They stood motionless; he closed his eyes, and she was gone.  He was confused in the dimness empty except for himself, and fumbled with, his gloves.  Susan’s wrap lay limply over a chair; the damp bonnet ribbons trailed toward the floor.  He looked slowly about, noting every object—­a pile of folded yellow papers, the stove, the globe bearing a quiver of light on its varnished surface.

The willow trees and board above the entrance were dripping ceaselessly; the lights of the city, increasing at its centre, like the discs of floating sunflowers.  If he slept he was unaware of it, the magic joy so equally penetrated his waking and subconscious hours, the feeling of an elevation higher than years and mountains was so strong.  The morning, he found, was again cold, and clear.  He must go out to Jaffa, where new blast machines demanded attention; but, the day after—­

His thoughts were broken by a sharp rap on the outer door.  Mr. Stephen Jannan was below, and demanded to see him immediately.  Stephen’s appearance at the hotel at that early hour, he recognized, was unusual.  But a glance at his cousin’s serious aspect showed him at once that the reason was urgent.  Stephen Jannan, as customary, was particularly garbed; and yet he had an expression of haste, disturbance.  He said at once, in the bedroom where Jasper Penny was folding his scarf.

“That young waster, Culser, Daniel Culser, was shot and killed in Mrs. Scofield’s house last evening.”

The ends of the scarf fell neglected over the soft, cambric frills of his shirt.  Jasper Penny swallowed dryly.  “At what time?” he asked.

“He was seen in the Old White Bear Tavern at about seven, then apparently he went back to the woman’s.  The servant said he found the body at something past nine, and that there had been no other caller but yourself.”

His hearer expressed a deep, involuntary relief.  “I was there late in the afternoon,” he acknowledged; “but I left around six.”  Stephen Jannan, too, showed a sudden relaxation.  “I have already sent a message to the Mayor,” he continued; “confident that you would clear yourself without delay.  Mrs. Scofield’s history is, of course, known to the police.  You have only to establish your alibi; she, Essie Scofield, can’t be found for the moment.  She may have taken an early stage out of the city; but it is probable that she has only moved into another police district.  Just where were you, Jasper?”

The latter said stupidly, “Walking with Susan Brundon.”