He waited until the door closed.

“What’s the matter?” she asked rather indifferently.  “If it’s more quarreling in the company I don’t want to hear it.  I’m tired.”  Then she took a full look at him, and sat up.

“Fred!  What is it?”

He gave her the truth, brutally and at once.

“I think Judson Clark was in the house to-night.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Neither would I, if somebody told me,” he agreed sullenly.  “I saw him.  Don’t you suppose I know him?  And if you don’t believe me, call Saunders.  I got him out front.  He knows.”

“You called Saunders!”

“Why not?  I tell you, Bev, I was nearly crazy.  I’m nearly crazy now.”

“What did Saunders say?”

“If he didn’t know Clark was dead, he’d say it was Clark.”

She was worried by that time, but far more collected than he was.  She sat, absently tapping the shelf with a nail file, and reflecting.

“All right,” she said.  “Suppose he was?  What then?  He has been in hiding for ten years.  Why shouldn’t he continue to hide?  What would bring him out now?  Unless he needed money.  Was he shabby?”

“No,” he said sulkily.  “He was with a girl.  He was dressed all right.”

“You didn’t say anything, except to Saunders?”

“No I’m not crazy.”

“I’d better see Joe,” she reflected.  “Go and get him, Fred. And tell Alice she needn’t wait.”

She got up and moved about the room, putting things away and finding relief in movement, a still beautiful woman, with rather accentuated features and an easy carriage.  Without her make-up the stage illusion of her youth was gone, and she showed past suffering and present strain.  Just then she was uneasy and resentful, startled but not particularly alarmed.  Her reason told her that Judson Clark, even if he still lived and had been there that night, meant to leave the dead past to care for itself, and wished no more than she to revive it.  She was surprised to find, as she moved about, that she was trembling.

Her brother came back, and she turned to meet him.  To her surprise he was standing inside the door, white to the lips and staring at her with wild eyes.

“Saunders!” he said chokingly, “Saunders, the damned fool!  He’s given it away.”

He staggered to a chair, and ran a handkerchief across his shaking lips.

“He told Bassett, of the Times-Republican,” he managed to say.  “Do you—­do you know what that means?  And Bassett got Clark’s automobile number.  He said so.”

He looked up at her, his face twitching.  “They’re hound dogs on a scent, Bev.  They’ll get the story, and blow it wide open.”

“You know I’m prepared for that.  I have been for ten years.”

“I know.”  He was suddenly emotional.  He reached out and took her hand.  “Poor old Bev!” he said.  “After the way you’ve come back, too.  It’s a damned shame.”