do
with the tragedy. Yet he was positive that he was asleep on the bed all
the time. The question is, Would anybody believe him? He shook his head
pathetically.

"I didn't do it. Really, I didn't."

"Shut your mouth! You're lying, and you know you're lying. Wait till the
coroner comes. We'll fix you."

Again there was silence, and now began a long, tedious wait, both men
retaining the same positions, the captain watching his prisoner as a cat
watches a mouse.

Howard's mental anguish was almost unendurable. He thought of his poor
wife who must be waiting up for him all this time, wondering what had
become of him. She would imagine the worst, and there was no telling
what she might do. If only he could get word to her. Perhaps she would
be able to explain things. Then he thought of his father. They had
quarreled, it was true, but after all it was his own flesh and blood. At
such a critical situation as this, one forgets. His father could hardly
refuse to come to his assistance. He must get a lawyer, too, to protect
his interests. This police captain had no right to detain him like
this. He must get word to Annie without delay. Summoning up all his
courage, he said boldly:

"You are detaining me here without warrant in law. I know my rights. I
am the son of one of the most influential men in the city."

"What's your name?" growled the captain.

"Howard Jeffries."

"Son of Howard Jeffries, the banker?"

Howard nodded.

"Yes."

The captain turned to his sergeant.

"Maloney, this feller says he's the son of Howard Jeffries, the banker."

Maloney leaned over and whispered something in the captain's ear. The
captain smiled grimly.

"So, you're a bad character, eh? Father turned you out of doors, eh?
Where's that girl you ran away with?" Sharply he added: "You see I know
your record."

"I've done nothing I'm ashamed of," replied Howard calmly. "I married
the girl. She's waiting my return now. Won't you please let me send her
a message?"

The captain eyed Howard suspiciously for a moment, then he turned to his
sergeant:

"Maloney, telephone this man's wife. What's the number?"

"Eighty-six Morningside."

Maloney again got busy with the telephone and the wearying wait began
once more. The clock soon struck two. For a whole hour he had been
subjected to this gruelling process, and still the lynx-eyed captain sat
there watching his quarry.

If Captain Clinton had begun to have any doubts when Howard tol