Foolish and futile hopes! To bank on the single grain of good in his wayward sister's heart! To trust the might of his spirit--to beat down the influence of an intolerant and depraved young millionaire--verily he was mad.

Yet he believed.

And as a final resort he held death in his hand.

Richard Swann swaggered by Lane that night in the billiard room of the Bradford Inn and stared sneeringly at him.
"I've got a date," he gayly said to his sycophantic friends, in a tone that would reach Lane's ears.
The summer night came when Lane drove a hired car out the river road, keeping ever in sight a red light in front of him.

He broke the law and endangered his life by traveling with darkened lamps.
There was a crescent moon, clear and exquisitely delicate in the darkening blue sky.