portières as Trant entered. The room was not at all typical of the boarding house. Its ornament and its arrangement showed the imprint of a decided, if not cultivated, feminine personality. The walls lacked the usual faded family portraits, and there was an entire absence of ancient knickknacks to give evidence of a past gentility. So he was not surprised when the mistress of this house entered, pretty after a spectacular fashion, impressing him with a quiet reserve of passion and power.
"I am always ready to see anyone who comes to help poor Mr. Bronson," she said.
The little boy, who had fled at Trant's approach, ran to her. But even as she sat with her arms about the child, Trant tried in vain to cloak her with that atmosphere of motherliness of which Miss Allison had spoken.
"I heard so, Mrs. Mitchell," said Trant. "But as you have had to tell the painful details so many times to the police and the reporters, I shall not ask you for them again."
"Do you mean," she looked up quickly, "that you bring me news instead of coming to ask it?"
"No, I want your help, but only in one particular. You must have known Mr. Bronson's habits and needs more intimately than any other person. Recently you may have thought of some possible reason for his going out in that manner and at that time, other than that held by the police."
"Oh, I wish I could, Mr. Trant!" the woman cried. "But I cannot!"
"I saw the sign of a doctor—Doctor O'Connor—
