’ He nodded in the direction of her pistol. She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. That is quite as far as I mean to tempt Providence to-night. She mewed weakly, “Sebastian? What have you done? Where is Gianfrancesco? Did you kill him?” He crossed his arms. She traveled through back yards and quiet side streets on her way home, careful to avoid the main thoroughfares, fraught as they were with people in cars who would recognize her person or notice her dress. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used.
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