Someone fumbled at the knob; and Montague stood crouching and watching breathlessly, prepared for anything.  The door opened, and he found himself confronted by Dan Waterman.

Montague recoiled a step in consternation; and the other strode out, and without a word went past him down the hall.  There was just time enough for Montague to receive one look—­of the most furious rage that he had ever seen upon a human face.

He rushed into the room.  Lucy was standing at the farther end, leaning upon a table to support herself.  Her clothing was in disarray, and her hair was falling about her ears; her face was flushed, and she was panting in great agitation.

“Lucy!” he gasped, running to her.  She caught at his arm to steady herself.

“What is the matter?” he cried.  She turned her face away, making not a sound.

For a minute or so he stood staring at her.  Then she whispered, “Quick! let us go from here!”

And with a sudden movement of her hands, she swept her hair back from her forehead, and straightened her clothing, and started to the door, leaning upon her friend.

They went up to the deck, where the officer was still standing in perplexity.

“Mrs. Taylor wishes to go ashore,” said Montague.  “Will you get us a boat?”

“The launch will be back in a few minutes, sir—­” the man began.

“We wish to go at once,” said Montague.  “Will you let us have one of those rowboats?  Otherwise I shall hail that tug.”

The man hesitated but a moment.  Montague’s voice was determined, and so he turned and gave orders to lower a small boat.

In the meantime, Lucy stood, breathing heavily, and gazing about her nervously.  When at last they had left the yacht, he heard her sigh with relief.

They sat in silence until she had stepped upon the landing.  Then she said, “Get me a cab, Allan.”

He led her to the street and hailed a vehicle.  When they were seated, Lucy sank back with a gasp.  “Please don’t ask me to talk, Allan,” she said.  And she made not another sound during the long drive to the hotel.

* * *

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he said, after he had seen her safely to her apartment.

“No,” she answered.  “I am all right.  Wait for me.”

She retired to her dressing-room, and when she came back, all traces of her excitement had been removed.  Then she seated herself in a chair opposite Montague and gazed at him.

“Allan,” she began, “I have been trying to think.  What can I do to that man?”

“I am sure I don’t know,” he answered.

“Why, I can hardly believe that this is New York,” she gasped.  “I feel as though I had got back into the Middle Ages!”

“You forget, Lucy,” he replied, “that I don’t know what happened.”

Again she fell silent.  They sat staring at each other, and then suddenly she leaned back in her chair and began to laugh.  Once she had started, burst after burst of merriment swept over her.  “I try to stay angry, Allan!” she gasped.  “It seems as if I ought to.  But, honestly, it was perfectly absurd!”