In Secret. Chambers Robert William

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      "The patient is ready to be discharged," she whispered, "but we have detained him at your request. We are so sorry about the mistake."

      "Is he quite conscious?"

      "Entirely. He's somewhat shaken, that is all. Otherwise he shows no ill effects."

      "Does he know how he came here?"

      "Oh, yes. He questioned us this morning and we told him the circumstances."

      "Does he know I have arrived?"

      "Yes, I told him."

      "He did not object to seeing me?" inquired Miss Erith. A slight colour dyed her face.

      "No, he made no objection. In fact, he seemed interested. He expects you. You may go in."

      Miss Erith stepped into the room. Perhaps the patient had heard the low murmur of voices in the corridor, for he lay on his side in bed gazing attentively toward the door. Miss Erith walked straight to the bedside; he looked up at her in silence.

      "I am so glad that you are better," she said with an effort made doubly difficult in the consciousness of the bright blush on her cheeks. Without moving he replied in what must have once been an agreeable voice: "Thank you. I suppose you are Miss Erith."

      "Yes."

      "Then—I am very grateful for what you have done."

      "It was so fortunate—"

      "Would you be seated if you please?"

      She took the chair beside his bed.

      "It was nice of you," he said, almost sullenly. "Few women of your sort would bother with a drunken man."

      They both flushed. She said calmly: "It is women of my sort who DO exactly that kind of thing."

      He gave her a dark and sulky look: "Not often," he retorted: "there are few of your sort from Samaria."

      There was a silence, then he went on in a hard voice:

      "I'd been drinking a lot… as usual…. But it isn't an excuse when I say that my beastly condition was not due to a drunken stupor. It just didn't happen to be that time."

      She shivered slightly. "It happened to be due to chloral," he added, reddening painfully again. "I merely wished you to know."

      "Yes, they told me," she murmured.

      After another silence, during which he had been watching her askance, he said: "Did you think I had taken that chloral voluntarily?"

      She made no reply. She sat very still, conscious of vague pain somewhere in her breast, acquiescent in the consciousness, dumb, and now incurious concerning further details of this man's tragedy.

      "Sometimes," he said, "the poor devil who, in chloral, seeks a-refuge from intolerable pain becomes an addict to the drug…. I do not happen to be an addict. I want you to understand that."

      The painful colour came and went in the girl's face; he was now watching her intently.

      "As a matter of fact, but probably of no interest to you," he continued, "I did not voluntarily take that chloral. It was administered to me without my knowledge—when I was more or less stupid with liquor…. It is what is known as knockout drops, and is employed by crooks to stupefy men who are more or less intoxicated so that they may be easily robbed."

      He spoke now so calmly and impersonally that the girl had turned to look at him again as she listened. And now she said: "Were you robbed?"

      "They took my hotel key: nothing else."

      "Was that a serious matter, Mr. McKay?"

      He studied her with narrowing brown eyes.

      "Oh, no," he said. "I had nothing of value in my room at the Astor except a few necessaries in a steamer-trunk…. Thank you so much for all your kindness to me, Miss Erith," he added, as though relieving her of the initiative in terminating the interview.

      As he spoke he caught her eye and divined somehow that she did not mean to go just yet. Instantly he was on his guard, lying there with partly closed lids, awaiting events, though not yet really suspicious. But at her next question he rose abruptly, supported on one elbow, his whole frame tense and alert under the bed-coverings as though gathered for a spring.

      "What did you say?" he demanded.

      "I asked you how long ago you escaped from Holzminden camp?" repeated the girl, very pale.

      "Who told you I had ever been there?—wherever that is!"

      "You were there as a prisoner, were you not, Mr. McKay?"

      "Where is that place?"

      "In Germany on the River Weser. You were detained there under pretence of being an Englishman before we declared war on Germany. After we declared war they held you as a matter of course."

      There was an ugly look in his eyes, now: "You seem to know a great deal about a drunkard you picked up in the snow near the Plaza fountain last night."

      "Please don't speak so bitterly."

      Quite unconsciously her gloved hand crept up on her fur coat until it rested over her heart, pressing slightly against her breast. Neither spoke for a few moments. Then:

      "I do know something about you, Mr. McKay," she said. "Among other things I know that—that if you have become—become intemperate—it is not your fault…. That was vile of them-unutterably wicked-to do what they did to you—"

      "Who are you?" he burst out. "Where have you learned-heard such things? Did I babble all this?"

      "You did not utter a sound!"

      "Then—in God's name—"

      "Oh, yes, yes!" she murmured, "in God's name. That is why you and I are here together—in God's name and by His grace. Do you know He wrought a miracle for you and me—here in New York, in these last hours of this dreadful year that is dying very fast now?

      "Do you know what that miracle is? Yes, it's partly the fact that you did not die last night out there on the street. Thirteen degrees below zero! … And you did not die…. And the other part of the miracle is that I of all people in the world should have found you!… That is our miracle."

      Somehow he divined that the girl did not mean the mere saving of his life had been part of this miracle. But she had meant that, too, without realising she meant it.

      "Who are you?" he asked very quietly.

      "I'll tell you: I am Evelyn Erith, a volunteer in the C. E. D. Service of the United States."

      He drew a deep breath, sank down on his elbow, and rested his head on the pillow.

      "Still I don't see how you know," he said. "I mean—the beastly details—"

      "I'll tell you some time. I read the history of your case in an intercepted cipher letter. Before the German agent here had received and decoded it he was arrested by an agent of another Service. If there is anything more to be learned from him it will be extracted.

      "But СКАЧАТЬ