I turned into the building.  Even the sound of my footsteps was foreign; the whole place was pregnant with stillness and shadow; life was gone out.  It was fearful; I felt the terror clutching upon me, a grimness that may not be spoken; there was something breaking within me.  I had pledged myself for a year.  Frankly I was afraid.

But I had given my word.  I returned to my apartments and began that very day the closing down of my practice.  In a fortnight I had completed everything and had moved my things to the room of Chick Watson.

XIII

ALBERT JEROME

Just as soon as possible I hurried over to Berkeley.  I went straight to the bungalow on Dwight Way; I inquired for Miss Holcomb.  She was a woman now in her late twenties, decidedly pretty, a blonde, and of intelligent bearing.

Coming on such an errand, I was at a loss just how to approach her.  I noted the little lines about the corners of her eyes, the sad droop of her pretty mouth.  Plainly she was worried.  As I was removing my hat she caught sight of the ring upon my finger.

“Oh,” she said; “then you come from Mr. Watson.  How is Chick?”

“Mr. Watson”—­I did not like lying, but I could not but feel for her; she had already lost her father—­“Mr. Watson has gone on a trip up-country—­with Jerome.  He was not feeling well.  He has left this ring with me.  I have come for a bit of information.”

She bit her lips; her mouth quivered.

“Couldn’t you get this from Mr. Watson?  He knows about the stone.  Didn’t he tell you?  How did it come into your possession?  What has happened?”

Her voice was querulous and suspicious.  I had endeavoured to deceive her for her own sake; she had suffered enough already.  I could not but wince at the pain in her eyes.  She stood up.

“Please, Mr. Wendel; don’t be clumsy.  Don’t regard me as a mere baby.  Tell me what has happened to Chick.  Please—­”

She stopped in a flow of emotion.  Tears came to her eyes; but she held control.  She sat down.

“Tell me all, Mr. Wendel.  It is what I expected.”  She blinked to hold back her tears.  “It is my fault.  You wouldn’t have the ring had nothing happened.  Tell me.  I can be brave.”

And brave she was—­splendid.  With the tug at my own heart I could understand her.  What uncertainty and dread she must have been under!  I had been in it but a few days; already I could feel the weight.  At no time could I surmount the isolation; there was something going from me minute by minute.  With the girl there could be no evasion; it were better that she have the truth.  I made a clean breast of the whole affair.

“And he told you no more about the ring?”

“That is all,” I answered.  “He would have told us much more, undoubtedly, had he not—­”

“You saw him go—­you saw this thing?”