"Drive fast."
The man obeyed. The servants, who had come to the door, stood there a
little frightened group. She ignored them and everything else
completely. The carriage had scarcely stopped when she sprang out and
crossed the pavement in a few hasty steps. The tall commissionaire
looked in amazement at her. She wore an opera cloak--she was a
bewildering vision of white satin and diamonds, and her eyes were
terrible with the fear which was in her heart.
She clutched him by the arm.
"Come up with me to Mr. Wingrave's rooms," she exclaimed. "Something
terrible has happened. I heard through the telephone."
The man dashed up the stairs by her side. Wingrave's suite was on the
first floor, and they did not wait for the lift. The commissionaire
put his finger on the bell of the outside door. She leaned forward,
listening breathlessly. Inside all was silence except for the shrill
clamor of the bell.
"Go on ringing," she said breathlessly. "Don't leave off!"
The man looked at her curiously. "Mr. Wingrave came in about an hour
ago with a young man, madam," he said.
"Yes, yes!" she cried. "Listen! There's someone coming."
They heard a hesitating step inside. The door was cautiously opened.
It was Richardson, pale, disheveled, but triumphant, who peered out.
"Mademoiselle--Mademoiselle Violet," he cried. "You have come to see
for yourself. This way!"
She raised her arm and struck him across the face so that, with a
little moan, he staggered back against the wall.
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