"I will take care of this." He hurried up the stairs, avoiding the elevator, to the vacant room opposite, and thence reconnoitered the studio door.

It was as Kennedy had reported.

Stephanie was there, and with Gurney.

The pale poet had been brought there to furnish her an evening of delight.

Because of the stillness of the building at this hour he could hear their muffled voices speaking alternately, and once Stephanie singing the refrain of a song.