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was aroused by a quick, light knock, repeated for the second time. He took up his revolver, slipped it into the loose side pocket of his bath-robe, and cautiously opened the door.

It was Alicia Boynton who stepped in as he did so, pushing him sharply back and closing the door even more sharply after her.

Then she stood confronting him, with her finger to her lips, as a sign for silence. McKinnon had long since learned that great moments seldom accord with their setting, that catastrophic seconds are often wanting in ceremonial. His first impulse had been to warn her hurriedly away. Yet it was not the danger that surrounded her, but more the thought of his attire and its simplicity that disturbed and shocked him. His embarrassment, even at that moment, was greater than that of the calm-eyed girl's.