Garth sprang to his feet. Alden's sick fear and his wife's hysterical misgivings were placed on a basis far sounder than imagination. A danger, unconformable, but none the less real, skirted their isolated house, had at last, according to the woman, forced an entrance.
Garth knew his limitations. He must have help, and now Alden must be made to talk.
He ran back to the house and stepped through the window. The lamp had been lighted. It shone on Mrs. Alden who bent over the writing-table, her gaze directed hypnotically towards the huddled man in the chair. Garth, since he came from the rear, could not see Alden's face at first.
"Mrs. Alden," he said, "I found your man, out there—"
Her hands left the table. She straightened. With a perceptible effort she raised her eyes from the chair to meet Garth's.
"Not de—"
She put her hand to her mouth and crushed back the word.
Garth nodded.
"I must have help. Where's the telephone?" he asked.
He started for the hall.
"Lock that window," he said. "I've left it open."
Suddenly he paused and turned. A sound, scarcely human, had come from the chair—a hollow, a meaningless vocal attempt, as though there
