Curtis leaped out, and evidently dropped something from his pocket as he did so, for he stopped and felt around for a moment. Then he examined his tank.
"It's a leak," he said, in irritation. "I haven't more than half a gallon left. These people must have some gasoline. Wait a few minutes."
Miss Melrose and Reid still sat in the car as he started away toward the house. Almost at the verandah he turned and called back:
"Charlie, I dropped something there when I jumped out. Get down and strike a match and see if you can find it. Don't go near that gasoline tank with the match."
He disappeared inside the house. Reid climbed out and struck several matches. Finally he found what was lost and thrust it into an outside pocket. Miss Melrose was gazing away down the road at two brilliant lights coming toward them rapidly.
"Rather chilly," Reid said, as he straightened up. "Want a cup of coffee or something?"
"Thanks, no," the girl replied.
"I think I'll run in and scare up some sort of a hot drink, if you'll excuse me?"
"Now, Charlie, don't," the girl asked, suddenly. "I don't like it."
"Oh, one won't hurt," he replied, lightly.
"I can't speak to you when you come out," she insisted, half banteringly.
"Oh, yes, you will." He laughed, and passed into the house.
Miss Melrose tossed her pretty head impatiently and turned to watch the approaching lights. They were blinding as they drew nearer, clearly revealing her figure, in its tan auto coat, to the occupant of the other car. The newcomer stopped and then she heard whoever was in it – she couldn't see – speaking to her.
"Would you mind turning your car a little so I can run in off the road?"
"I don't know how," she replied, helplessly.
There was a little pause. The occupant of the other car was leaning forward, looking at her closely.
"Is that you, Marguerite?" he asked finally.
"Yes," she replied. "Who is that? Don?"
"Yes."
A man's figure leaped out of the other machine and came toward her.
Curtis appeared beside the Green Dragon with a huge can of gasoline twenty minutes later. The two occupants of the car were clearly silhouetted against the sky, and Reid, leaning back in the tonneau, was smoking.
"Find it?" he asked.
"Yes," growled Curtis. And he began the work of repairing the leak and refilling his tank. It took only five minutes or so, and then he climbed up into the car.
"Cold, Marguerite?" he asked.
"She won't speak," said Reid, leaning forward a little. "She's angry because I went inside to get a hot Scotch."
"Wish I had one myself," said Curtis.
"Let's wait till we get to the next place," Reid interposed. "A little supper and trimmings will put all of us in a better humor."
Without answering, Curtis threw a lever, and the car pulled out. Two automobiles, which had been standing when they arrived, were still waiting for their owners. Annoyed at the delay, Curtis put on full speed. Finally Reid leaned forward and spoke to the girl.
"In a good humor?" he asked.
She gave no sign of having heard, and Reid placed his hand on her shoulder as he repeated the question. Still there was no answer.
"Make her talk to you, Jack," he suggested to Curtis.
"What's the matter, Marguerite?" asked Curtis, as he glanced around.
Still there was no answer, and he slowed up the car a little. Then he took her arm and shook it gently. There was no response.
"What is the matter with her?" he demanded. "Has she fainted?"
Again he shook her, this time more vigorously than before.
"Marguerite," he called.
Then his hand sought her face; it was deathly cold, clammy even about the chin. The upper part was still covered by the mask. For the third time he shook her, then, really frightened, apparently, he caught at her gloved wrist and brought the car to a standstill. There was no trace of a pulse; the wrist was cold as death.
"She must be ill – very ill," he said in some agitation. "Is there a doctor near here?"
Reid was leaning over the senseless body now, having raised up in the tonneau, and when he spoke there seemed to be fear in his tone.
"Better run on as fast as you can to the inn ahead," he instructed Curtis. "It's nearer than the one we just left. There may be a doctor there."
Curtis grabbed frantically at the lever and the car shot ahead suddenly through the dark. In three minutes the lights of the second inn were in sight. The two men leaped from the car simultaneously and raced for the house.
"A doctor, quick," Curtis breathlessly demanded of a waiter.
"Next door."
Without waiting for further instructions, Curtis and Reid ran to the auto, lifted the girl in their arms and took her to a house which stood just a few feet away. There, after much clamoring, they aroused some one. Was the doctor in? Yes. Would he hurry? Yes.
The door opened and the men laid the girl's body on a couch in the hall. Dr. Leonard appeared. He was an old fellow, grizzled, with keen, kindly eyes and rigid mouth.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"Think she's dead," replied Curtis.
The doctor adjusted his glasses rather hurriedly.
"Who is she?" he asked, as he bent over the still figure and fumbled about the throat and breast.
"Miss Marguerite Melrose, an actress," explained Curtis, hurriedly.
"What's the matter with her?" demanded Reid, fiercely.
The doctor still bent over the figure. In the dim lamplight Curtis and Reid stood waiting anxiously, impatiently, with white faces. At last the doctor straightened up.
"What is it?" demanded Curtis.
"She's dead," was the reply.
"Great God!" exclaimed Reid. "How?" Curtis seemed speechless.
"This," said the doctor, and he exhibited a long knife, damp with blood. "Stabbed through the heart."
Curtis stared at him, at the knife, then at the inert figure, and lastly at the dead white of her face where it showed beneath the mask.
"Look, Jack!" exclaimed Reid, suddenly. "The knife!"
Curtis looked again, then sank down on the couch beside the body.
"Oh, my God! It's horrible!" he said.
II.
To Hutchinson Hatch and half a dozen other reporters, Dr. Leonard, at his home late that night, told the story of the arrival of Jack Curtis and Charles Reid with the body of the girl, and the succeeding events so far as he knew them. The police and Medical Examiner Francis had preceded the newspapermen, and the body had been removed to a nearby village.
"They came here in great excitement," Dr. Leonard explained. "They brought the body in with them, the man Curtis lifting her by the shoulders and the man Reid at the feet. They placed the body on this couch. I asked them who she was, and they told me she was Marguerite Melrose, an actress. That's all that was said of her identity.
"Then I made an examination of the body, seeking a trace of life. There was none, although the body was not then entirely cold. In examining her heart my hand struck the knife which had killed her – a heavy weapon, evidently used for rough work, with a blade of six or seven inches. I drew the knife out. Of course, knowing that it had pierced her heart, any idea of doing anything to save her was beyond question.
"One of the men, Curtis, seemed greatly excited about this knife after Reid called his attention to it. Curtis took the knife out of my hand and examined it closely, then asked if he might keep it. I told him it would have to be turned over to the medical examiner. He argued about it, and finally, to settle the argument, I took it out of his hand. Reid explained to Curtis that it was necessary for me to keep the knife, and finally Curtis seemed to agree to it.
"Then I suggested that the police be notified. I did this myself by telephone, the men remaining with me all the time. I asked if they could throw any light on the tragedy, but neither could. Curtis said he had been out searching for a man who had the keys to a shed where some gasoline was locked up, and it took fifteen or twenty minutes to find him. As soon as he got the gasoline he returned to the auto.