"Our bread was such as captives' tears
Have moistened many a thousand years,
Since man first pent his brother men
Like brutes within an iron den."
It was a long chase that brought Hal Deering and Maurice Galbraith face
to face with the ruffian, whom Hal readily identified. They found him
with a group of new-found friends in the chief liquor saloon of a small,
rather disreputable town, fifty miles from the Ranch. When the two
young men entered the place, the man they were looking for asked them to
join in the "all-round drink" he was about to "stand treat for," which
invitation was promptly declined by Hal Deering. After a whispered
word, Galbraith had left the shop; and Hal, seating himself at a table,
awaited the return of his friend, quietly enduring the insulting remarks
which the offended Horton heaped upon him. The loafers in the shop had
a kindly feeling toward the man who had treated them, and did not
discourage him in his attempts to force the new-comer into a quarrel.
But Hal was imperturbable, and answered neither with look nor word.
Stimulated by the whiskey he had imbibed, and the admiring attention of
his friends, the rowdy finally called out in a brutal voice,--
"If you think yerself too good to drink with this yere crowd, p'raps yer
would n't mind amusing 'em by showing 'em the last style of dancing down
in 'Frisco. 'T would raley please us to see you step out."
As he spoke he drew his pistol from his belt and pointed it at Deering.
The more sober ones of the party here interfered; and the burly
saloon-keeper stepped forward with the remark, that he "did n't mean to
'low anything but fair play in his shanty; and that if the genl'm'n had
a difference between them they must settle it outside."
The man whom Deering was after seated himself astride a hogshead of beer
and cocked his pistol, advising the "boss" to keep out of the affair if
he valued his "sweet life."
"Now, then, young man, if yer don't cut a caper before I count three, I
shall be obliged to see how much of your right boot-heel I can carry
away with this bullet, without endangering them handsome feet o' yourn."
Hal, only afraid of losing his man, answered coolly,--
"You can shoot if you want to. I am a stranger in this place, and I
prefer to do my dancing at home."
The proprietor again interposed, and laying his hand on the bully's
shoulder, ordered him to put up his shooting-irons. Horton threw him
off, and things were beginning to look rather serious; when Deering saw
Galbraith crossing the street with two men, one of whom he recognized as
the county sheriff.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I have come a long distance to find this man; I
am anxious to have his company as far as the San Bernardino prison,
where he will find comfortable board provided for him. If you are
law-abiding citizens, you will not interfere with the arrest of Daniel
Horton on an indictment of murder."
As he finished speaking, the three men entered, and the sheriff laid his
hand on Horton's shoulder. Murder is an ugly word, and a silence
followed Hal's speech. The crowd instinctively drew back from the man
who had been charged with the foul crime; and a silence ensued, which
was broken by the sheriff, a high-voiced little man, who said in a loud
tone,--
"I arrest you, Dan Horton, for the murder of Ah Lam, committed at
Carey's Bridge, on the afternoon of Wednesday last."
A revulsion of feeling was manifest in the faces of the crowd. The
horror for a person who has committed the unatonable crime of murder had
been felt; but when it transpired that the victim was a Chinaman, the
case appeared to be very much altered. The man, quick to see the
favorable change in public sentiment, cried,--
"Wall, boys, you see I am 'spected of having done the business for one
of these Chinese vermin. What sort of a town 's this as will see a man
'rested for that?"
Daniel Horton's experience of life in the rough mining towns, where the
last five years of his life had been spent, gave him the hope that the
men in the saloon would help him to escape from arrest. But though
sympathy for him was evinced by the group of idlers, there was no
attempt at resisting the officers; and the sheriff, assisted by
Galbraith and Deering, finally succeeded in placing the hand-cuffs on
his wrists. When he saw that there was no help for him, he submitted to
be led from the saloon, giving one parting look of scorn at the friends
whom he had won by a glass of liquor and lost on the appearance of an
officer.
"Of all the derned mean skunks as I ever met, this town numbers the
most," he muttered, as the screen door swung to behind him.
The examination of the prisoner was to be held in the court-room of the
county prison of San Bernardino. Millicent was summoned to be present.
Escorted by Deering and Galbraith, she arrived before the entrance of
the gloomy building, one bright October morning. It was a day when life
seemed a pleasant thing, if only because there were sunlight and color
in the odorous woods and pleasant highways. Just as they reached the
doorway, a line of people filed out from the narrow portal. They were
the discharged prisoners, some of whom had been in confinement for
twenty-four hours only, while others had not breathed the free air for
many weary months. A girl not older than Millicent passed them with a
slow, inelastic step and downcast eyes. Her slender figure was poorly
but decently clad in a gown of rusty black, her hair neatly arranged,
her hands and face clean and of a remarkable pallor. She alone among
the little group seemed loath to leave the prison, where at least she
had been among those who could not look down on her. At the threshold
she paused and shuddered, as if the wide street, with its row of young
shade-trees and neat sidewalk, were more forbidding than the narrow
prison-yard, with its spiked rails and dismal barred windows. Those who
were behind became impatient at her delay; and she was pushed not
ungently into the street by the man next to her in the sad procession.
As she found herself alone outside the dreary stone building, she gave a
low groan, clasping her poor thin hands together over her breast.
Millicent, moved by the pathetic gesture, spoke to her gently, asking if
she could in any way help her; but the girl shook her head as if annoyed
by the question, and walked quickly down the street, taking the first
turn which led her out of sight of the prison. All those who followed
were men, most of whom wore a conscious expression, as if they were more
embarrassed at being seen leaving the prison than mortified at having
merited the punishment which they had undergone. As the last of the
queue filed out, Galbraith entered the doorway, Millicent following him,
and Deering bringing up the rear. In the wide stone hall which they
entered were groups of men talking together or leaning idly against the
rails. A heavy grated door swung open with a rusty, grinding sound, and
two men appeared, arm-in-arm. The taller of the two was a handsome
young fellow, with blond, curling hair, blue eyes, and fresh rosy
cheeks. His expression was almost infantine in its beauty; and this,
with his jaunty air, contrasted strangely with his companion's ugly,
stooping figure and downcast, shamed face. The latter was a misshapen
creature, with a humped back and a large, ugly head furnished with
coarse hair and beard. As the grate clanged behind the couple, the
handsome young fellow laughed cheerily, stretched his limbs, and drew a
long breath of relief.
"Ta-ta, bully, hope I won't see you soon again," he said, nodding
impudently to the door-keeper. The smaller man was lame, as well as
deformed; and the under-warden, who had joined Galbraith, asked him
kindly how his leg was doing.
"Better, sir, thank you," croaked the unfortunate in a harsh voice; "it
came hard on me not havin' George here to help me; but it's all right
now. Good-morning to you, sir."
"Tell me about those men," said Millicent to an official whom Galbraith
had introduced to her.
"They are brothers, George and Pete Marcy. Which of them do you think
paid a twenty-dollar fine to get his brother out of prison just now?
Likely you 'll think it was the good-looking chap; but 't was Pete the
dwarf. He 's the tinker and general useful man of the town, is Pete;
and George is one of the biggest rascals in the State of California.
But he covers his tracks well; and though we know a good many things
about him, we can prove nothing more against him than an occasional
assault and battery."
"And did the poor little creature pay the fine out of his earnings?"
"Bless you, yes; and pays for his clothes,--nice ones, you remarked,
mebbe? Pete gives that rascal every dollar he earns; and the only thing
George does toward supporting himself, is to rob an occasional hen-roost
when he wants to give a supper party."
The outer door now closed with a grave sound; it had let out its day's
quota of men and women who had legally expiated their crimes; it had
taken in its one breath of sun and air. From a narrow window Millicent
saw the Marcy brothers walking down the street, George with head erect
and swaggering gait, Pete shambling awkwardly along at his side, vainly
trying to keep pace with his handsome brother's long strides.
The warden now led the way to the court-room. The keeper of the gate, a
stern-looking man, with iron-gray hair and iron-rusted clothes, stopped
Millicent as she was about to pass through the grated door, saying,--
"Put up your veil, please." Three inches of transparent red tulle
masked her face from the brow to the mouth. So slight a covering was it
that the superior officer had not noticed it; but nothing escaped the
lynx-eyed jailer, who added curtly, "Must keep it up all through the
prison. No woman is allowed to enter or leave this place veiled."
Millicent looked a little puzzled as she unfastened the bit of lace; and
the grim guardian added, in a voice which was something softer than the
grating of his key in the lock,--
"You need n't be ashamed to put up your veil, with _such_ a face as
yours."
Millicent smiled an acknowledgment of the compliment, and passed through
the gate, holding fast to the slip of yellow paper and the red ticket
which had been given to her, and which were necessary to secure an exit
from that precinct which is so easily entered and so difficult to leave.
"You have captivated that grim old fellow with one glance, Miss
Almsford. How do you do it?" queried Galbraith.
"What do you mean? I don't," answered Millicent rather inconsistently.
They had by this time reached the prison-yard; and Millicent, with a
shiver, looked up at the high, smooth stone walls, with their cruel
topping of iron spikes. In a certain angle she stopped a moment,
attracted by a little fern which had found place for its slender roots
in a cranny of the masonry. She suddenly started, and with a horrified
expression ran back a few paces, grown pale to the lips. The warden,
who had looked at her with an odd expression, said,--
"You were standing, just now, miss, on the spot where the gallows is
always erected."
"I knew it," said the girl, in a shaking voice. "I saw it."
Maurice Galbraith quietly drew her arm under his own, and said gently,
but authoritatively,--
"Come, my child, do not be nervous; you have a great deal to go through
with to-day."
He fixed his deep, serious eyes on her face for a moment; and the girl,
sensitive to his quiet influence, quickly recovered herself.
They passed up a narrow, dark stone stair-case, and along a corridor
running outside the cells. Most of the heavy wooden doors were open,
the outer grating of iron revealing the interior of the cells. In one
of these a young mulatto, the Figaro of the village, stood leaning
against the bars talking to a respectable-looking man of his own color,
who proved to be the pastor of a Methodist church. The young man was a
handsome fellow, carefully and neatly dressed. He seemed somewhat
excited, and talked in a loud voice, which he lowered at the approach of
the party. Galbraith inquired what crime he had been charged with, and
learned from the officer that he had wounded his brother mortally in a
quarrel; "They both was waitin' on the same gal," the attendant added in
explanation. A man lying at full-length upon the floor sprang to his
feet as they passed his door, and walked furiously up and down the
narrow room, shaking his head from side to side, reminding Millicent of
a caged panther she had once seen. Each dreary, cramped apartment
imprisoned some unfortunate, either suffering the penalty for, or
awaiting the judgment of, his crimes. Millicent felt the chill air of
the prison damp and fetid upon her cheek, and yet she did not hurry down
the corridor, but walked slowly, apparently looking neither to the right
nor left, but with one quick, sidelong glance, taking in the details of
each of the cells and the faces of the malefactors, impressions which
never faded from her memory. Some of the men laughed impudently as the
little group passed their cells; and one fellow of wild aspect buried
his face in his hands, with a sudden movement, as if ashamed of being
seen behind the disgraceful bars. A pair of youthful criminals were
engaged in playing _moro_, the great Italian gambling game. One of the
youths was a native of Italy; and he had evidently taught his companion
in confinement the simple but exciting game. No cards or dice, checkers
or other paraphernalia, are needed; the game is played with the fingers
only. Those of the left hand keep the account of the game. With the
right hand a quick movement is made by both players simultaneously,
showing a certain number of fingers; while at the same moment each calls
out his guess of the number which his antagonist holds
up,--"due"--"cinque"--"tutti." The familiar words fell upon Millicent's
ears, and she stopped outside the door, her cheeks dyed with a flush of
pleasure, her eyes sparkling at the sound of her native language. She
did not remember that she was in a prison; she thought of nothing but
the fact that here was a compatriot; she spoke to him in a low voice a
few words of greeting. The fellow stared at her at first; and then,
seeing that hers was a friendly face, left his seat on the corner of the
narrow bed, came close to the grate and poured out a torrent of words in
the patois of the Venetians. When he learned that the signorina was not
only of his country, but from his city, the poor fellow, whose crime had
been nothing more than participation in a street-fight, was moved to
tears. Millicent forgot her companions and the strange place of
meeting, and listened with sympathizing attention to the story of the
man with the dull red-gold hair and white, delicate features, whose face
recalled more than one friend in the far-off city of her home. His
profession was that of a cobbler, his name Giovanni Brogli. He had
drifted out to this strange country through a love of wandering, and had
been drawn into a street-brawl by some chance acquaintances, who had
robbed him of all that remained of his small fortune; and when he would
have fought his betrayers, they turned him over to the police. True or
false, the story was a pitiful one. The creature could speak next to no
English; and Millicent's tender heart was troubled by the recital of his
griefs. She had no money with her, and before either of her companions
was aware of her intention, she had untwined a gold serpent of exquisite
workmanship from her throat and held it through the bars to the man
inside the cell. He looked at her with wondering eyes, and taking the
white fingers in his own rough, blackened hand, kissed them reverently,
murmuring a blessing which brought tears to her eyes.
"I say, Princess, you must n't do that sort of thing;" said Hal,
thoroughly scandalized, pulling her by the sleeve. "Come on! you can't
stand talking to these rascals and giving them your jewelry,--it is n't
sensible."
She answered impatiently, and then saying a word of farewell to the
prisoner, she submitted to be led away from the grate by Galbraith,
followed by a fervent parting blessing from Giovanni of the reddish
locks.
"I wish you wouldn't be so absurdly soft-hearted. What did you want to
give that beggar your lovely necklace for?" said Hal.
"I had no money with me," half penitently.
"Well, I could have let you have some. But it's against the rule. I
should n't wonder if you got into trouble for doing such a thing,"
continued the young man, who was genuinely shocked at Millicent's
behavior.
"There was no harm done, was there, Mr. Galbraith? I won't be scolded.
It was my serpent; I will do what I choose with my own things, and will
not be dictated to by you." Millicent was angry at Deering's very
natural interference; and Galbraith, anxious to spare her all annoyance,
gave Hal a warning kick, and hurried her towards their destination, lest
she should feel moved to part with any more of her personal property for
the benefit of the prisoners.
They now entered a small apartment; and Millicent learned that before
the opening of the trial, she was called upon to identify the murderer
of Ah Lam. The question was asked,--
"Could you identify, on oath, the man you saw at Carey's Bridge? You
were under great excitement at the time; you could hardly be expected to
remember anything beyond the fact of the killing."
"I am positive I can identify him."
"On oath; are you sure?"
"Perfectly so."
"How could you surely recognize a man you have seen but once, under very
painful circumstances, six weeks ago?"
"I remember his face distinctly; I should know his voice among a
thousand."
"Be careful; what you say may be put to the test. What you state in the
court you must be able to prove."
"I am ready to prove it."
When the moment came for the identification of the prisoner, Millicent's
eyes were bandaged; and twelve men filed into the room, among whom she
was told was the man arrested for the crime. As she had made the
assertion that his voice alone would betray the murderer to her, she was
asked to listen to a sentence repeated in turn by each of these men.
Three of them had said the stipulated words, and the fourth was about to
speak, when those who were nearest to Millicent noticed that she
shuddered violently.
"Let the next man speak."
The fellow looked at Millicent askance, and then repeated the sentence
in a low, unnatural voice. He had said but three words when she
interrupted him.
"The person who is now speaking is the man who assaulted me at Carey's
Bridge."
The judge, who had taken a keen interest in all Millicent had said, now
motioned to the men to change places. The bandage being removed, she
glanced at the row of men and said,--
"He now stands at the end of the row nearest the window."
Her expression, as she turned her eyes and looked in the face of Daniel
Horton, was cold and set as that of one of the younger Fates. Aversion
and horror were therein painted. As she spoke she pointed at the guilty
wretch, who moved uneasily under her gaze, and dropped his bold eyes
before the light in her gray orbs, as if their fire scorched him.
The preliminaries accomplished, all the participants adjourned to the
court-room, which was a bare apartment, very grimy, and sadly in need of
paint and soapsuds. At one end was a slightly raised table, behind
which the judge seated himself. He was a singular-looking man, and wore
his hair long, in greasy ringlets falling as far as the coat-collar.
His stout person was adorned with a large amount of rather flashy
jewelry, and a pink cravat was supplemented by a bunch of fuchsias worn
in the button-hole. The space in front of the bench was railed in by an
iron balustrade painted green. At the long tables sat groups of men
busily engaged in writing or in conversation. A policeman standing near
the judge's desk, when the clamor in the court-room became unusually
loud, pounded on the floor with his club, whereat the voices grew lower
for a brief space, and then the hubbub began again. Somebody seemed to
be addressing the court, though Millicent thought that no one paid much
attention to him. The entrance of the prosecuting council in the case
of manslaughter soon to be called, with two of the chief witnesses, made
some stir; and Millicent was conscious, as she took her place, that the
eyes of all present were fixed upon her. She looked wonderingly about
the dismal apartment, with its dirty wooden settles and bare floor, at
the judge on the bench, and at the crowd of poorly dressed people in the
seats behind her. Galbraith now entered the little pen, and, seating
himself at the table, proceeded to look through some papers which his
clerk handed to him, while the man who was haranguing the court
continued his discourse, in which nobody seemed to take any interest.
Millicent had never been in court before. Her only experience of the
abodes of justice had been the long afternoons passed in the court-rooms
of the Doge's palace, studying the frescoes and beautiful carvings of
those famous apartments. She had always invested the precincts of
justice with a vague majesty and splendor. A judge, in her imagination,
was a stately man clothed in crimson and ermine, with grave, reverend
features, majestic in mien, deliberate in speech. When Hal pointed out
Judge Croley, as one of the most distinguished of American jurists, she
was greatly astonished.
"Will he try the case in that dress?"
"Oh, yes; I heard Croley condemn a man to death in very much the same
costume as that which he wears to-day. The cravat was a little brighter
pink, I think; and I remember he wore carnations in his button-hole. He
said in a pleasant, nonchalant voice, very much the tone he would use in
ordering his farmer to kill a pair of chickens, 'You are condemned to be
taken to the San Bernardino prison, there to be hanged by the neck until
you are dead, on the third day of May at twelve o'clock; and may God
have mercy upon your soul!'"
Millicent shuddered as she heard the case called, and faltered for the
first time in her desire to see justice done to the murderer of Ah Lam.
It is such a terrible responsibility, the taking of life; can man's law
make it guiltless? The great question which all of modern thought has
not yet solved, troubled the mind of the young woman, who could accept
no judgment or creed on faith; she painfully and laboriously solved the
problems of life by the force of her own reasoning.
"There is Pierson, the counsel for the defence," whispered Hal, as a
little man strutted up the aisle between the benches full of people, and
entered the green-railed enclosure. He was perhaps the most
grotesque-looking person Millicent had ever seen. His height could not
have been above five feet; and this, with his small hands and feet, gave
him an exceedingly effeminate appearance. His small round head was like
a ball, on the surface of which little globular eyes and a beak-like
nose had been very casually placed. These features did not seem at all
a necessary part of the head, which resembled that of a parrot. Before
he spoke he put his head on one side, in a bird-like fashion; and he
occasionally shook himself, very much as a canary does when anything has
ruffled its composure. Millicent had learned from Galbraith that this
man was the most prominent criminal lawyer in California. As she looked
at his high, narrow forehead and mean, pinched smile she thought that
among all the malefactors in San Bernardino prison she had seen no face
as bad as that of Pierson, the great criminal lawyer. The prisoner was
now brought into the court. After stating his name, age, residence, and
occupation, he was asked the question,--
"Are you guilty or not guilty of the wilful murder of Ah Lam at Carey's
Bridge, on the afternoon of Wednesday, October 16?"
The noisy court-room had grown perfectly still; and the prisoner's
low-spoken answer was heard in the farthest corner with perfect
distinctness,--
"Not guilty."
The counsel for the defence now stated that the prisoner acknowledged
having been at Carey's Bridge on the day of the murder. He had there
seen and spoken to Miss Almsford, but had fled at the approach of some
gentlemen of the party. He admitted that he had assaulted Miss
Almsford, but pleaded that he had no intention of injuring her.
"What were you doing at the mill?"
"I come there to meet a man as I had 'gaged to."
"What man was it?"
The prisoner declined to answer this question, and finally declared that
he did not know the man's name.
"For what purpose did you meet this man?"
"To do a job as we was hired for."
"And what were you hired to do?"
"To carry off the young lady."
At this astonishing statement a moment's silence fell upon the
court-room, which was broken by Pierson's sharp voice: he asked his
client to name the person who had engaged him to kidnap the young girl.
With clasped hands and startled eyes, Millicent looked into the face of
the ruffian, waiting to hear the name of the man who had plotted against
her. John Graham, in the excitement of the moment, stood up in his
place to get a better view of Horton; while Maurice Galbraith sat with
an unmoved countenance, keenly watching the features of the prisoner at
the bar. The question was twice put to him,--"Who was the man?" but he
did not speak. A third time he was asked. Finally, he looked at his
lawyer, who nodded slightly; and then, with a defiant glance toward the
artist, at whom he pointed an unsteady finger, he said,--
"The man as hired me to do the job stands in this yer court-room. He
calls himself John Graham."
A moment of silence followed this astounding statement, succeeded by an
incredulous murmur which ran from mouth to mouth. From the confused
sounds rang out a deep, clear voice uttering these words:--
"It is a shameful lie!" Millicent it was who had spoken, rising to her
feet and stretching out her arms toward Graham with a gesture of womanly
protection, as if to shield him from the ruffian's slanderous breath.
Silence was at last enforced, and the examination of Horton proceeded.
He repeated his statement that he had not killed the Chinaman, and that
the abduction of Millicent had been attempted at the instigation of John
Graham. The artist, after the first moment of surprise, said nothing,
but remained perfectly silent, his eyes fixed intently on Daniel
Horton's face. The story told by the prisoner was one which bore some
semblance of truth. He had met his confederate on the morning of the
picnic as had been previously arranged, and had attempted to carry off
Miss Almsford; but hearing the voices of the gentlemen had fled. He had
undertaken the affair some time beforehand, and had twice visited
Graham's studio, where the artist had made a painting of him in order to
explain his presence there. A scrap of paper, soiled and tumbled, was
produced, on which were traced these words in Graham's handwriting:
"Come to the place I told you of, to-morrow at one; you shall be well
paid." One o'clock had been the hour of the picnic; and this note, it
was affirmed, had been sent to Horton on the previous day as per
agreement. On being further examined, the fellow showed a dogged
persistence in his story; and Maurice Galbraith's adroit
cross-questioning failed to make him contradict his original statement
in any particular. The day waned as the storm of words raged; and at
dusk the trial was adjourned until the following day. As the crowd
filed out of the court-room, Millicent found Graham at her side. He was
pale, and his dark eyes flashed angrily. He was about to speak to her;
and she turned toward him with smiling lips and eyes, when Henry Deering
stepped between them, and, bowing coolly to the artist, drew her arm
through his own, and, before she was well aware of his intention, led
her from the room. The eyes of a dozen curious outsiders were fixed
upon her, and she submitted to be placed in the wagon, which Hal drove
off at a sharp pace. The artist remained in the court-room, where he
was presently joined by Maurice Galbraith, who in a formal voice asked
him to accompany him to his apartment, in order that they might discuss
the new and unexpected feature in the case. The two men walked together
down the street, both too much excited to trust themselves to speak. As
soon as they found themselves alone in Galbraith's chamber at the inn,
Graham cried excitedly,--
"Galbraith, no one can for a moment believe that infamous lie,--you can
make the fellow eat his words to-morrow?"
The lawyer folded his arms across his breast, and looked into his
companion's face with a searching gaze, before he answered slowly and
ironically,--
"Am I to understand, Mr. Graham, that you deny all collusion in the
attempt to carry off Miss Almsford?"
"Great God! of course I do. Can you for a moment doubt me? _I to carry
off Millicent_? Are you mad to ask me such a question? Why, don't you
know, man, how much I have cared for that girl?"
"It is not difficult for the most indifferent observer to detect your
admiration for Miss Almsford."
"Well?"
"Well, what does that prove? It is a point against you that you are
supposed to be in love with the young lady, and gives color to Horton's
accusation."
Graham sank into a seat, and the lawyer continued,--
"Your great intimacy at the Ranch and your marked attentions to Miss
Almsford were apparently unaccountably discontinued by your removal to
San Francisco. This feature is against you. You must have seen that in
the eyes of Henry Deering, Horton's statement needed strong disproving."
"And you, Galbraith, can you for an instant suspect me of so base, so
vile an action? Is it possible that a man can be so misjudged?"
"All I have to say, Mr. Graham, is that it is my hope to prove you
innocent of the crime in which Horton has implicated you. As the friend
and counsel of Miss Almsford, I prefer to believe that she was menaced
by a vulgar ruffian and not by a man who might have aspired to the honor
and privilege of guarding her from every harm. If you will excuse me, I
will see you in the course of the evening."
With these words the lawyer left the apartment, his nervous face
suffused by a deep flush. John Graham stared after him for a moment, and
then passed down the corridor and out into the quiet night, to seek
counsel from the stars in this strange hour of doubt.