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 from self-control. "Something serious has happened to father! Some one—a woman's voice it was—called Doctor Grantham's home a few minutes ago. She begged Doctor Grantham to come at once to father at 4689 Veerage Street, third apartment; she said it was a case of life or death and for the doctor to come with his instruments. Doctor Grantham wasn't home; but the girl knew where he was. She called him and he's on the way home for his instruments, and he told her to look up Veerage Street for him. He didn't know it; the girl couldn't find it in the guide, so she called our house. That's all they know!"

Gregg took her hands and led her to a chair. By a mercy, the encore to the last dance had been long, the intermission short, and now another dance was playing so that no one else was about that end of the lower floor. "Stay here, Marjorie," he begged compassionately, "I'll talk to her and see if I can find out anything else."

Her cold fingers clasped convulsively on his before she relaxed and let him go; she gazed into his eyes, but his now avoided hers; Gregg was trying to think at the same moment of all sides and bearings of this which had come; which, indeed, he had expected to come, and yet which presented itself now suddenly with amazing and unthought-of complexities. He entered the telephone booth and shut the door; but instead of taking up the receiver, he opened the directory at R and swiftly ran down the column of Russells, finding no one listed with an address on Veerage Street; but a Mrs. S. Russell was residing at 4689 Clearedge Street. Gregg jerked and look up Nyman; yes, there was one at 4687 Clearedge Street. There was no longer any