Merkle alighted two blocks up the avenue and sped to his own
house; Bob turned his jaded nag westward through the sunken road
that led toward the Elegancia and Lorelei.

The owner of the equipage was waiting patiently, and there still
lacked something of the allotted hour when the exchanged garments
had been transferred to their respective owners. Bob walked toward
the Elegancia with a feeling of extreme fatigue in his limbs, for
the effort to conquer his intoxication had left him weak; he dimly
realized also that he was still far from sober.

There was no answer when he rang at Lilas Lynn's apartment; the
hall-boy volunteered the information that the occupant had just
gone out with a gentleman. Miss Knight? Yes, she was up-stairs, he
supposed. But when Bob undertook to go up there was prompt
objection. The attendant would not hear to such a thing until he
had first called Miss Knight. Even Lorelei's halting assurance
that the gentleman was indeed her husband did not wholly satisfy,
and it was with a suspicious mien that the man finally gave way.

Bob was surprised at his wife's apparent self-control when she let
him in. Except for the slim hand pressed to her bosom and the
anxiety lurking in her deep blue eyes she might have just come
from the theater. Those eyes, he noted, were very dark, almost
black, under this emotional stress; they questioned him, mutely.

"We got him home all right," he told her, when they stood facing
each other in the tiny living-room.

"Will he live?"