“You must believe me!” he said, earnestly.  “It’s the truth, and I won’t have Lilas involved—­we’ve been a great deal to each other.  To-night—­I accused her wrongfully.  It was all my fault—­I’m to blame for everything.”  There was a pause.  “I ruined her—­you understand?  I won’t allow any scandal.  Now get me out of here as quietly and as quickly as you can.  I’m really not hurt much.  Come, come!  There’s nobody home except Orson and some of the kitchen help, and Orson is all right—­the women are gone, you know.  He’ll get a doctor.  It’s a—­bad business, of course, but I’ve thought it all out, and you must do exactly as I say.”

The effort of this long speech told on the sufferer.

Sweat beaded his face; nevertheless, his jaws remained firmly set; his glance was purposeful, his big hands were gripped tightly over the arms of his chair.  There was something superb, something terrible about his unchanging grimness.

Lorelei spoke timidly, for the first time.  “But—­the law, Mr. Merkle?  The police—?”

“To hell with the law!” Jim burst out, nervously.  “D’you want to go to court?  D’you want to be up for murder?  Lilas would saddle it onto you to save herself.”

“Murder?” echoed Bob, with a start.  “Jove!”

Jarvis Hammon cried furiously:  “Don’t be fools.  There’s no murder about it.  I told you I shot myself accidentally.  I’m not going to die.”

“You can’t—­you mustn’t,” Merkle gravely agreed.

“Is your car outside, John?”

Merkle shook his head.  He was thinking swiftly.  “I wouldn’t dare risk that, anyhow.  The driver is a new man.”

“Get a cab,” Jim offered, in a panic.

“The cab-driver would be sure to—­”

“I’ll drive,” Bob volunteered.  “I’m drunk, but I’ve done it before when I was drunker.  It’s an old trick of mine—­sort of a joke, see?  Give me some money—­a cabby’ll do anything for money at this time o’ night.”

Merkle eyed the speaker in momentary doubt, then handed him a roll of bank-notes.  “It’s a serious business, Bob, but—­this is worse, and we’ve no time to lose—­Jarvis can’t stay here.  There’s somebody else to consider besides us and—­Miss Lynn.  I’m thinking about Mrs. Hammon and the girls.”  Hammon groaned.  “But we mustn’t leave a trail, understand?  Now go quickly, and—­do the best you can.”  He followed Bob to the door and let him out.  Instead of returning to the library, however, Merkle stepped swiftly down the hall, then, without knocking, opened the door to Lilas Lynn’s bedroom and entered.

Lilas was busied at her dressing-table; an open traveling-bag jammed with articles of wearing-apparel stood on the bed.  At his entrance she uttered a frightened cry and a silver spoon slipped from her nerveless fingers.  Merkle saw also a little open box with several compartments, a glass of water, the cap of a pearl-and-gold fountain-pen, but took scant notice of them, being too deeply stirred and too much surprised at her appearance.  She was no longer the vital, dashing girl he had known, but a pallid, cringing wreck of a woman.  She shrank back at sight of him, babbling unintelligible words and cowering as if expecting a blow.