others the task of the questioning; and he had ceased to expect much more from it. His assistants seemed to him to be merely chasing Ketlar around and around a beaten circle of lies, making him more familiar with them at each circuit.
Ketlar had had breakfast and had rested a little. In her room on the floor above, Joan Daisy was asleep. At least, this was the word from Mrs. Hoswick, who watched her; and, at noon, the information was two hours old.
Calvin had not slept, nor had he even rested since he had been called from bed. He sat at his table, alone in the hotel room, sorting over the sheets of evidence, with a pencil in hand for notes of analysis and contradiction; but when he came to the Royle girl's words, he saw her as first she had faced him, her thrilling, blue eyes gazing into his, with her fine head flung back, challenging him for coming in the name of the State! He saw her slender, white arms and her hands; her white heels ascending the stairs ahead of him . . . her graphic pantomime of herself in Ketlar's embrace after he had come back from the building near the lake.
The room telephone rang and Mrs. Hoswick, upstairs, reported, "She is awake now and getting up."
"Order breakfast for her," Calvin said tersely, "if she wishes it."
"She wants to talk to you."
"I will be up presently," Calvin replied and busied himself again with the depositions; but he read only mechanically while he was reckoning the time to be allowed for Joan Daisy to dress.
His pretense with himself offended him, and he pushed back from the table and honestly considered his own agitation. Undeniably, he was impatient and the object of his impatience was to see again the girl who was upstairs.
Because of this he made himself delay longer than was
