ell him that I am very sorry, but
that just now, I am forced to use his own methods--and that if he
doesn't see me within five minutes, there will be something in the
morning papers that will be, to say the least, extremely distasteful to
him."

"The name, please?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Are you from a newspaper?"

"I'm not saying. Whether I go to one directly from here, depends
entirely upon Mr. Worthington. Will you please take my message?"

"I'm afraid--"

"Take my message!"

"Directly, sir!"

Another wait. Then:

"Mr. Worthington will see you in the library, sir."

"Thanks." Houston almost bounded into the hall. A moment later, in
the dimness of the heavily furnished, somewhat mysterious appearing
library, Barry Houston again faced the man whom, at one time, he had
hoped never again to see. Kilbane Worthington was seated at the large
table, much in the manner which he had affected in court, elbows on the
surface, chin cupped in his thin, nervous hands. The light was not
good for recognizing faces; without realizing it, the former district
attorney had placed himself at a disadvantage. Squinting, he sought to
make out the features of the man who had hurried into the room, and
failing, rose.

"Well," he asked somewhat brusquely, "may I inquire--"

"Certainly. My name's Houston."

"Houston--Houston--it seems to me--"

"Maybe your memory needs refreshing. Such little things as I figured
in probably slipped your mind the minute you were through with them.
To be explicit, my name is Barry Houston, son of the late William K.
Houston. You and I met--in the courtroom. You once did me the very
high honor to accuse me of murder and then tried your level best to
send me to the penitentiary for life when you knew, absolutely and
thoroughly, that I was an innocent man!"

CHAPTER XVII

The former district attorney started slightly. Then, coming still
closer, he peered into the tense, angry features of Barry Houston.

"A bit melodramatic, aren't you?" he asked in a sneering tone.

"Perhaps so. But then murder is always melodramatic."

"Murder? You don't intend--"

"No. I simply referred to the past. I should have said 'reference to
murder.' I hope you will pardon me if any inelegance of language
should offend you."

"Sarcastic, aren't you?"

"I have a right to be. Knowing what I know--I should use more than
sarcasm."

"If I'm not mistaken, you have. The butler spoke of som