ANTHONY OPENED the door of the flat and went quickly
into it. He called out as he did so, not that he had much
hope of an answer, even if Quentin were there. But in-
stinctively his voice went before him, desiring to cry
out to that wilderness of spirit, to proclaim the making
straight of the highway of God. No other replied.

He went into each room, and even looked behind
chairs and inside a deep cupboard or two and under
tables and beds. The agonized fugitive might so easily
have tried to hide himself in such an absurd refuge. But
he had not; after a very few minutes Anthony was com-
pelled to admit that the flat was untenanted. He came
back into their common lounge and sat down. Quentin
wasn't here; then he was still in flight--or helpless, or
dead. The first possibility of the two which had been
in Anthony's mind--that of finding his friend--had
proved useless; the second and less defined--the hinted
discovery in this house of friendship of a means of being

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