“I understand it all,” she broke in.  “I understand that this might lead to the failure of the thing you are trying to do.  But I don’t care.  I understand that already I have lost my father and my brother in this; that my grandmother and my mother were nearly starved to death while it was all being planned; all for these hideous diamonds.  Diamonds!  Diamonds!  Diamonds!  I’ve heard nothing all my life but that.  As a child it was dinned into me, and now I am sick and weary of it all.  I know—­I know something has happened to him now.  I hate them!  I hate them!”

She stopped, glared at him with scornful eyes for an instant, then ran up the stairs again.  Mr. Wynne touched a button in the wall, and the maid appeared.

“Go lock the back door, and bring me the key,” he commanded.

The maid went away, and a moment later returned to hand him the key.  He still stood in the hall, waiting.

After a little there came a rush of skirts, and Miss Kellner ran down the steps, dressed for the street.

“Doris,” he pleaded, “you must not go out now.  Wait just a moment—­ we’ll find a way, and then I’ll go with you.”

She tried to pass him, but his outstretched arms made her a prisoner.

“Do I understand that you refuse to let me go?” she asked tensely.

“Not like this,” he replied.  “If you’ll give me just a little while then perhaps—­perhaps I may go with you.  Even if something had happened there you could do nothing alone.  I, too, am afraid now.  Just half an hour—­fifteen minutes!  Perhaps I may be able to find a plan.”

Suddenly she sank down on the stairs, with her face in her hands.  He caressed her hair tenderly, then raised her to her feet.

“Suppose you step into the back parlor here,” he requested.  “Just give me fifteen minutes.  Then, unless I can find a way for us to go together safely, we will throw everything aside and go anyway.  Forgive me, dear.”

She submitted quietly to be led along the hall.  He opened the door into a room and stood aside for her to pass.

“Gene, Gene!” she exclaimed.

Her soft arms found their way about his neck, and she drew his face down and kissed him; then, without a word, she entered the room and closed the door.  A minute passed—­two, four, five—­and Mr. Wynne stood as she left him, then he opened the front door and stepped out.

Frank Claflin was just starting toward the house from the corner with deliberate pace when he glanced up and saw Mr. Wynne signaling for him to approach.  Could it be possible?  He had had no orders about talking to this man, but—­Perhaps he was going to give it up!  And with this idea he accelerated his pace and crossed the street.

“Oh, Mr. Claflin, will you step in just a moment, please?” requested Mr. Wynne courteously.

“Why?” demanded the detective suspiciously.

“There’s a matter I want to discuss with you,” responded Mr. Wynne.  “It may be that we can reach some sort of—­of an agreement about this, and if you don’t mind—­”