I have the vaguest, sickest memory of the rest of that night—of the people who came pouring in through the swinging doors when they heard that cry of mine . . . and chief among them Kaye Gorman herself, in the black lace dress that had made me make that mistake.
She stared at me, her baby face white as death, as if in some way she already saw the incredible significance that this scene was to have before we were through.
“I . . . I thought it was you,” I managed to say.
She shook her head—unnecessarily.
“They just haven’t got around to me yet,” she said. She was trying to be indifferent and cynical, but her face was dreadfully white and her hands shook as she lighted a cigarette.
Colonel Primrose’s face was very grim. “All of you go back in there, and stay,” he said curtly. He looked
