THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
"It would be useless," he interrupted, with unexpected curtness. "Good evening!" He opened the door himself and went out into the street. "Club!" he directed, entering the limousine and slamming the door.
All these pictures were dreadfully vivid to Ruth. It seemed as though she was living through every scene again, through all the pain and the shame of it. She put aside these recollections suddenly and energetically. Her life was in danger; she must waste no vitality in useless retrospection. She looked out of the rear window of her prison. Always there was a Chinaman in the door of the outhouse, always covertly watching her window. They? Who were they who were to come for her? At ten that night this riddle was solved.
Colburton came in quietly and stood with his back to the door.
"You?" she whispered across the bed behind which she had taken refuge at the sound of the turning key. For a space the walls of the room warped fantastically. As they steadied down and became normal again she slowly reached for one of her hatpins. She could die.
But Colburton did not approach her; he remained where he was.
"Weren't expecting me, then?"
"No. I hadn't thought you quite so base as this." The sight of this man stiffened her spine. But she determined to see if there was not some
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