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 even if you run away—so why not face the music here?”

“I don’t mind for myself,” Kate said, slowly, “I’m thinking of Pearl Jane.”

“Little Miss Cutler?” Jarvis asked. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know—I can’t seem to find anybody. It’s queer where Tommy can be. And Charley—where can he have gone to?”

“Perhaps they’ve gone up to the smoking room by the back stairs,” Post suggested. “They’re doubtless there—because—because they aren’t anywhere else,” he concluded a little lamely.

“I didn’t know there was a back stairs,” Kate exclaimed. “Let us go that way.”

“Do you want to go back to—to that room?” Post said.

“Yes, I do,” Kate returned. “I want to stand by Tommy if there’s going to be trouble. But more, I want to find that child.”

“Perhaps she’s up there,” Jarvis suggested.

“Let’s go and see.”

But before they could start, an officer came in at the front door.

“What’s up?” he inquired, not greatly disturbed at the fact that all the people he saw were in fantastic costumes. Washington Square policemen are not easily surprised.

They told him, and Kate suggested the back stairs.

“No,” he said, and strode up the main staircase.

He stormed his way through the shuddering crowd, who willingly fell back for his passing, and opened the door of the smoking room.

Crossing to where the still figure lay, he gave a brief but comprehending glance at it, then after a few low words to Doctor Gannett, he said, “I’ll telephone the Precinct Station—