outside the door of number seven. Into the room came Myra Thornhill; quickly she crossed and took Kendrick's hands in hers.
"David," she sobbed. "Oh, David—is it a dream—a wonderful dream?"
Kendrick looked into her eyes, sheepishly at first, then gladly as he saw what was in them. For the light there, under the tears, was such as no man could mistake. Magee saw it. Hayden saw it too, and his voice was even more lifeless when he spoke.
"Forgive me, David," he said. "I didn't mean—"
And then, as he saw that Kendrick did not listen, he turned and walked quietly into the bedroom of number seven, taking no notice of Cargan and Bland, who, with the other winter guests of Baldpate, now crowded the doorway leading to the hall. Hayden closed the bedroom door. Mr. Magee and the others stood silent, wondering. Their answer came quickly—the sharp cry of a revolver behind that closed door.
It was Mr. Magee who went into the bedroom. The moonlight streamed in through the low win-
