d him, using that pretty
woman, s'help me, God! I did."

"We will judge of your story when we hear it," grimly answered
McNerney.

But it was Doctor Atwater's measured courtesy which disarmed this
vulgar youth's pregnant fears.

"We can show your mother and yourself to have been used as innocent
tools, if you give up the whole truth. But, remember, a little
smart lying will surely cost you your life."

Atwater and McNerney listened, in astonishment, as Emil Einstein
unveiled the double life of his former patron. The inner workings
of Magdal's Pharmacy, the dual trades on different banks of the East
River, the duplex Braun and Meyer, and the whole scenario of the
Cafe Bavaria and the Newport Art Gallery--all these were faithfully
pictured.

With moistened eyes, Atwater listened to the story of Randall
Clayton's chivalric faith in the beautiful waif whom a romantic
Fortune seemed to have thrown in his pathway, a creature of light
and love.

When the long recital was done, both the inquisitors felt that
Einstein spoke the truth, as he wildly declared that he only thought
Braun was throwing a pretty woman in Clayton's way to get a secret
hold upon him.

"I never dreamed of the company's robbing, nor of killing poor
Mr. Clayton. I got not one dollar out of it. I never had Braun's
confidence, and he followed me up, and used me, and threw me away
like an old rug. And Ben Timmins knows nothing. He's only a poor
drudge in Braun's Sixth Avenue opium-joint and whisky-store."

"But Lilienthal, he knows a lot! Catch him if you can! But he's an
oily devil. He threw this woman against poor Mr. Clayton."

It was only when the boy was thoroughly subdued that Atwater quietly
asked, "And Ferris? What had he to do with it?"

"Nothing," stubbornly cried the boy. "Only so far as this: he wanted
to sneak in and get old Worthington's daughter, and all the money.
That's square! He hated Clayton. He used to write lying letters
to the old chief about him. He sent private reports on his life
to Mr. Worthington. I used to watch him. I often got a peep at his
papers, and he bribed me to pipe off poor Clayton. But you can hang
me if Ferris knew Fritz Braun. You see," coolly said the crafty
boy, "Ferris wanted the girl, the money, and the old man's favor.
Braun only wanted the company's money, and used the Hungarian lady
to draw Clayton on. I fancy, from all I could see, that Mr. Clayton
really loved that lady; and Braun could only u