I sat in the darkened car watching him through the falling rain. I saw him stop before the double door of heavy plate glass guarded by its scroll-work of black iron. I waited for him to ring, wondering what his reception in that strange house would be. But instead of ringing, he quietly took out a pass-key, inserted it in the door-lock, and stepped inside.
I sat there, stunned. Here was a new twist, and a twist that was a little too much for me. Why should Wendy Gruger Washburn carry a key to that house of horrors? And how could such a key come into his possession ? And why was he holding back information which he could easily have given me, if he'd wanted to? And was the gift-ring which he had so calmly ignored, after all, in some way associated with him? And if so, just who and what was this Wendy Washburn? And why should he be so actively interested in my immortal soul, and snatch half-a-million dollars out of my hand, the same as a big brother snatches an especially juicy apple from baby sister on the plea that it might give her cholera-morbus? And was he actually taking that wealth back to its owners? And, if so, just who were its owners supposed to be? Or was there some ulterior motive in that charitable little move? Was my Hero-Man merely playing lion to my ante-
