Chapter XXII

Bruce Harcourt tapped on the door of Janice’s room. No answer. He glanced at his wrist-watch. Ten o’clock. He tapped again. Dead to the world probably, tired child. Immediately upon landing on the flying-field soon after dawn, she had gone to the H house, two of the men had rowed Paxton out to his yacht. He hated to waken her, but the Commissioner wanted to push the investigation. Chester was up, bandaged, grim-lipped, ashen. They needed Jan to take stenographic notes. He lifted the latch, entered the room. A breez…