of hurrying steps in the hallway without. And the next moment came the rattle of a key in the lock.
That could mean only one thing. It was Shindler coming back.
Quick as a cat, she sank once more into her chair beside the table, with her arms outspread and her face flat on the beer-stained wooden surface stippled with cigarette-burns. She scarcely breathed as she heard the door behind her open and a quick step or two cross the room.
Then out of the silence and quite close to her she heard a voice. And she knew it was the voice of Wilsnach.
"Good God, it's Sadie!" she heard him gasp.
He dropped on one knee beside her and she could feel his hand against her body, with an interrogatory touch on the wrist and the quick pressure of a finger against her neck artery, as though to make sure her heart was still beating. Then he lifted her face and stared into it.
"Sadie, what is it? What's the matter?" he cried in mingled alarm and pity.
But Sadie kept her eyes closed, luxuriating in the consciousness that his arm was about her and half holding her up, that his hand was brushing her tem-
