When he faced Spurlock, the granite was cracked and rived; never had Spurlock seen such dumb agony in human eyes. “Be so good as to stand away from that door at once, sir,” Brendon ordered. “Tiffany’s?” He looked at her comically. Her first impulse was to fly to the window; and she was about to pass through it, at the risk of sharing the fate of the unfortunate lady, when her arm was grasped by some one in the act of ascending the ladder from without. She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering.
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