"Good luck to you!" he said. "And you'd better get a better face on you
than that. It's enough to send you up, on suspicion!"
She hardly heard him. She began to run, and again she said over and over
her little inarticulate prayer. She knew the Spencer house. More
than once she had walked past it, on Sunday afternoons, for the
sheer pleasure of seeing Graham's home. Well, all that was over now.
Everything was over, unless-The Spencer house was dark, save for a low light in the hall. A new
terror seized her. Suppose Graham saw her. He might not believe her
story. He might think it a ruse to see his father. But, as it happened,
Clayton had sent the butler to bed, and himself answered the bell from
the library.
He recognized her at once, and because he saw the distress on her face
he brought her in at once. In the brief moment that it required to turn
on the lights he had jumped to a sickening conviction that Graham was
at the bottom of her visit, and her appearance in full light confirmed
this.
"Come into the library," he said. "We can talk in there." He led the
way and drew up a chair for her. But she did not sit down. She steadied
herself by its back, instead.
"You think it's about Graham," she began. "It isn't, not directly, that
is. And my coming is terrible, because it's my own father. They're going
to blow up the munition plant, Mr. Spencer!"
"When?"
"To-night, I think. I came as fast as I could. I was locked in.
"Locked in?" He was studying her face.
"Yes. Don't bother about that now. I'm not crazy or hysterical. I tell
you I heard them. I've been a prisoner or I'd have come sooner. To-day
they brought something--dynamite or a bomb--in a suit-case--and it's
gone to-night. He took it--my father."
He was already at the telephone as she spoke. He called the mill first,
and got the night superintendent. Then he called a number Anna supposed
was the police station, and at the same time he was ringing the
garage-signal steadily for his car. By the time he had explained the
situation to the police, his car was rolling under the porte-cochere
beside the house. He was starting out, forgetful of the girl, when she
caught him by the arm.
"You mustn't go!" she cried. "You'll be killed, too. It will all go,
all of it. You can't be spared, Mr. Spencer. You can build another mill,
but--"