She walked between the two men into the feebly lighted office
of the inn. The keeper of the place, a dreary looking person with
dread in his eyes, hurried forward. She stopped stock-still. Some
one was brushing the stubborn, thickly caked snow from her long
chinchilla coat.

"You must let me get you something hot to drink, madam," the landlord
was saying dolorously.

She struggled with her veil, finally tearing it away from her face.
Then she took in the rather bare, cheerless room with a slow,
puzzled sweep of her eyes.

"No, thank you," she replied.

"It won't be any trouble, madam," urged the other. "It's right here.
The sheriff says it's all right to serve it, although it is after
hours. I run a respectable, law-abiding house. I wouldn't think of
offering it to anyone if it was in violation--"

"Never mind, Burton," interposed a big man, approaching. "Let the
lady choose for herself. If she wants it, she'll say so. I am the
sheriff, madam. This gentleman is the coroner, Dr. Sheef. We waited
up for you after Mr. Drake said you'd got the fast train to stop
for you. To-morrow morning would have done quite as well. I'm sorry
you came to-night in all this blizzard."

He was staring as if fascinated at the white, colourless face of
the woman who with nervous fingers unfastened the heavy coat that
enveloped her slender figure. She was young and strikingly beautiful,