For a moment Steve leaned panting against the door, blinking in the glare of the long, brightly lighted room. He was conscious of dozen faces turning toward him, and of a man in khaki rising swiftly from a table close at hand. In that first instant he could not seem to find his voice, but his sodden, dripping, mud-caked figure, his white face, streaked across one cheek with red, his wide, dilated eyes, evidently were eloquent, almost, as speech.