“It would be a pious act,” Slater declared.  “And his ghost wouldn’t ha’nt you none, either.  It would put on its asbestos overshoes and go out among the other shades selling stock in electric fans or ‘Gordon’s Arctic Toboggan Slide.’  He’d promote a Purgatory Development Company and underwrite the Bottomless Pit for its sulphur.  I—­I’d hate to think this came from Dan.”

The locomotive had been switched out by this time, and O’Neil hurried to board it.  On his way to Omar he had time thoroughly to weigh the results of this unexpected complication.  His present desire was merely to verify his suspicion that Appleton had told his secret to Natalie; beyond that he did not care to think, for there was but one course open.

His anger reached the blazing-point after his arrival.  As he stepped down from the engine-cab Gray silently handed him a code message from London which had arrived a few moments before.  When its contents had been deciphered, O’Neil cursed and he was furious as he stumbled through the dark toward the green bungalow on the hill.

Swinging round the corner of the house, he came into a bright radiance which streamed forth from Eliza’s window, and he could not help seeing the interior of the room.  She was there, writing busily, and he saw that she was clad in the elaborate kimono which he had given her; yet it was not her personal appearance which arrested his angry eyes and caused his step to halt; it was, instead, her surroundings.

He had grown to accept her prim simplicity as a matter of course, and never associated her in his thoughts with anything feminine, but the room as it lay before him now was a revelation of daintiness and artful decoration.  Tasteful water-colors hung on the walls, a warm rug was on the floor, and everywhere were rosy touches of color.  The plain white bed had been transformed into a couch of Oriental luxury; a lace spread of weblike texture covered it, the pillows were hidden beneath billowing masses of ruffles and ribbons.  He saw a typical woman’s cozy corner piled high with cushions; there was a jar of burning incense sticks near it—­everything, in fact, was utterly at variance with his notions of the owner.  Even the girl herself seemed transfigured for her hair was brought forward around her face in some loose mysterious fashion which gave her a bewilderingly girlish appearance.  As he looked in upon her she raised her face so that the light shone full upon it; her brows were puckered, she nibbled at the end of her pencil, in the midst of some creative puzzle.

O’Neil’s eyes photographed all this in a single surprised glance as he passed; the next moment he was mounting the steps to the porch.

Dan flung open the door, but his words of greeting froze, his smile of welcome vanished at sight of his chief’s forbidding visage.

Murray was in no mood to waste words; he began roughly: 

“Did you tell Miss Gerard that Poultney Illis is backing me?”