That night when I left Molly there was only one thought in my mind—to reach Carol and help her get away. If the figure of Barker had not stood between us I would have then and there implored¹ her to marry me and give me the right to fight for her. But I knew that was hopeless. As things stood, all I could do was to tell her the situation and give her a chance to escape.  
I suppose it's a pretty damaging confession² but the office, my duty to my work and my associates, cut no ice at all. Heretofore I'd rather patted myself on the back as a man who stood by his obligations. That night only one obligation existed for me—to protect from disgrace the woman I loved.
 
I knew the trains to Azalea—it was on the road to Firehill—and though one left at midnight, the last train on the branch line to the Azalea Woods Estates had long gone. The shortest and quickest way for me to get there was to take out my own car. This would also insure the necessary secrecy³. I could bring her back with me and let her slip away in the crowds at one of the big stations.
 
It was a wild, windy night, a waning⁴ moon showing between long streamers of clouds. By the time I struck the New Jersey⁵ shore—after maddening delays in the garage and at the ferry—it was getting on for one, and the clouds had spread black over the sky. It was a fiendish ride for a man on fire as I was. For miles the road looped through a country as dark as a pocket, broken with ice-skimmed pools and deep-driven ruts. In the daylight I could have made the whole distance inside an hour, but it was after two when I came to the branch line junction⁶ and turned up the long winding⁷ road that led over the hills to the Azalea Woods Estates.
 
As I sighted the little red-roofed station and the houses dotted over the tract⁸, the moon came out and I slowed up, having no idea where the cottage was or what it looked like. The place was quiet as the grave, the light sleeping on the pale walls of the stucco villas⁹ backed by the wooded darkness of the hills.
 
I was preparing to get out and rouse one of the slumbering¹⁰ inhabitants when I heard the voices of women. They were coming down a side road and looking up it I saw three figures moving toward me, their shadows slanting¹¹ black in front of them. At the gate of a large, white-walled house, two of them turned in, their good-nights clear on the frosty air, and the third advanced in my direction. I could see her skirts, light-colored below her long dark coat, and her head tied up in some sort of scarf. By their clothes and voices I judged them to be servant girls coming back from a party.
 
As she approached I hailed her with a careful question:
 
"I beg your pardon, but I think I'm lost. Can you tell me where I am?"
 
"I can," she said, drawing up by the car. "You're in the Azalea Woods Estates."
 
"Oh, I am a bit out of my way. The Azalea Woods Estates," I surveyed the scattered¹³ houses and wide-cut avenues, "I've heard of them but never seen them before. Doesn't a Mrs. Whitehall live here?"
 
The girl smiled; she had a pleasant, good-natured face.
 
"She surely does—in the Regan cottage over beyond the crest¹⁴ there. I'm living with her, doing the heavy work, until she gets settled. I belong on the big farm, but as she was lonesome and had no girl I said I'd come over and stay till her daughter joined her."
 
I smothered¹⁵ a start—could Molly have made a mistake?
 
"Her daughter, eh? Isn't her daughter with her now?"
 
"No, sir. She's coming tomorrow afternoon, then I'm going home. We'll have the cottage all ready for her. She's not expected till the 2.40 from town. Do you know the ladies?"
 
I bent¹⁶ over the wheel, afraid even by that pale light my face might show too much. Molly had made a mistake, sent me out here on a fruitless quest, wasted three or four precious hours. I could have wrung¹⁷ her neck. I heard my voice veiled and husky as I answered:
 
"Only by hearsay¹⁸. I knew Miss Whitehall was the head of the enterprise, that's all. Er—er—it's Azalea I'm aiming for. How do I get there?"
 
She laughed.
 
"Well you are out of your way. You'll have to go back to the Junction on the main line. Then follow the road straight ahead and you'll strike Azalea—about twenty miles farther on."
 
"Thank you," I said and began to back the car for the turn.
 
"No thanks," she answered and as I swung around called out a cheery "Good night."
 
That ride back—shall I ever forget it! It was as if an evil genius was halting me by every means malevolence¹⁹ could devise. Before I reached the highway the moon disappeared and the darkness settled down like a blanket. The wind was in my face this way and it stung till the water ran out of my eyes. Squinting²⁰ through tears I had to make out the line of the road, black between black hedges and blacker fields. I went as fast as I dared—nothing must happen to me that night for if I failed her, Carol was lost. With the desire to let the car out as if I was competing in the Vanderbilt Cup Race, I had to slow down for corners and creep through the long winding ways that threaded the woods.
 
And finally—in a barren stretch without a light or a house in sight a tire blew out! I won't write about it—what's the use? It's enough to say it was nearly six, and the East pale with the new day, when I rushed into Jersey City. I was desperate then, and police or no police, flashed like a gray streak²¹ through the town to the ferry.
 
On the boat I had time to think. I decided²² to phone her, tell her I was coming and to be dressed and ready. I could still get her off three or four hours ahead of them. I stopped at the first drug store and called her up. The wait seemed endless, then a drawling, nasal voice said, "I can't raise the number. Lenox 1360 don't answer." I got back in the car with my teeth set—sleeping so sound on this morning of all mornings! Poor, unsuspecting Carol!
 
The day was bright, the slanting sun rays touching²³ roofs and chimneys, when I ran up along the curb²⁴ at her door. An old man in a dirty jumper who was sweeping²⁵ the sidewalk, stopped as he saw me leap out and run up the steps. The outer door was shut and as I turned I almost ran into him, standing²⁶ at my heels with his broom in his hand. He said he was the janitor²⁷, took a bunch of keys from his pocket, and unlocked the door, fastening the two leaves back as I pressed her bell.
 
There was no answering click of the latch²⁸ and I tried the inner door—fast, and all my shaking failed to budge²⁹ it.
 
"Isn't Miss Whitehall here?" I said, turning on the man who was watching me interestedly.
 
"Sure," he answered. "Anyways she was last night. She talked to me down the dumbwaiter at seven and told me she wasn't going till this afternoon."
 
"Open the door," I ordered, speaking as quietly as I could. "She's probably asleep—I've an important message for her, and I want to give it now before I go downtown."
 
He did as I told him and I ran up the stairs, and pressed the electric button at her door. As I waited I heard the janitor's slow steps pounding up behind me, but from the closed apartment there was not a sound.
 
"She ain't there, I guess," he said as he gained the landing. "She must have gone last night."
 
I turned on him:
 
"Have you a key for this apartment?"
 
"I've a key for every apartment," he answered, holding out the bunch in his hand.
 
"Then open the door. If she's not here I've got to know it."
 
He inserted a key in the lock and in a minute we were inside. The morning light filtered in through drawn³⁰ blinds, showing a deserted³¹ place, left in the chaos³² of a hasty move. Everything was in disorder³³, trunks open, furniture stacked and covered. The curtains to the front bedroom that I'd always seen closed were pulled back, revealing the evidences of a hurried packing, clothes on the bed, bureau drawers half out, a purple silk thing lying in a heap on the floor.
 
She was gone, gone in wild haste, gone like one who leaves on a summons as imperative³⁴ as the call of death—or love!
 
"She's evidently gone to her mother or some friend for the night," I said carelessly. "She'll be back again to finish it up."
 
The janitor agreed and asked if I'd leave a message. No, I'd phone up later. I cautioned him to keep my visit quiet and he nodded understandingly—took me for a desperate lover, which Heaven knows I was. But in order to run no risks of his speaking to those who would follow me, I sealed his lips with a bill that left him speechless and bowing to the ground.
 
I was in my own apartment before Joanna and David were up, ready to be called to breakfast from what they, in their fond old hearts, thought was a good night's rest. Sitting on the side of my bed, with my head in my hands, I struggled for the coolness that day would need. Of course she'd gone to Barker—nothing else explained it. The state of the apartment proved she had intended leaving f............